


cryptic clues not meant for fools (in love)

by glissandos



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Confessions, Detective AU, Domesticity, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Kissing, Living Together, M/M, Mysteries, Sharing a Bed, Solving clues, Solving crimes, Strangers to Lovers, but nothing graphic, detective seungmin, flatmates, job-typical descriptions of suicide/death/violence/blood, producer/songwriter changbin, sherlock au (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glissandos/pseuds/glissandos
Summary: Changbin’s just an ordinary guy. His new flatmate Seungmin is anything but that—a detective with an endless appetite for adventure, a brain that’s hardwired for meticulous attention to detail, and… the social skills and emotional capacity of a robot.Needless to say, how the two fell in love is probably the biggest mystery so far. But when Seungmin finally sorts out his feelings and plans an elaborate confession, Changbin has absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to be doing—or that the confession is even a confession, because he can’t figure out Seungmin’s cryptic clues.(Changbin just wanted someone to split the cost of an apartment with. He never could have predicted it would turn out like this.)
Relationships: Kim Seungmin/Seo Changbin
Comments: 77
Kudos: 316
Collections: Seungmin-Centric Ficfest





	1. PART I: The Detective

**Author's Note:**

> [ **NOTE:** Since Seungmin is a detective, there are brief mentions of suicide, death, and violence/blood, but nothing is really graphic.]
> 
> -Prompt #41 (a bit long to write out, just know that this is a sort of detective au with the main premise in the summary above^^)  
> -To the prompter: if you’re reading this, thank you for this brilliant idea! I’m also a Sherlock fan and I thought the character dynamic would really fit seungbin, so... here we are, haha. I didn't completely follow the prompt but I hope this is satisfactory nonetheless!  
> -To everyone else: the fic loosely references a few scenes from the show, but you definitely don’t need to have read/watched Sherlock before—just enjoy :D  
> -P.S. Thank you to the kind mod for organizing this fest!

It isn’t everyday that Changbin meets someone who can figure out half his backstory before he has even said a word about himself.

So when Changbin meets Seungmin for the first time, he thinks Seungmin is a stalker. 

Or at least someone who’d gone through his Facebook and Instagram pages, or maybe typed Changbin’s name into Google and read through some of the links. Because there is no other logical reason for why Seungmin already knows so much about him when he hasn’t revealed any personal information. (Well—Seungmin’s a bit of a genius, but Changbin doesn’t know that yet.)

In short, Changbin is fresh out of college and looking for a steady job in the music industry. He can’t exactly afford to live on his own, so a good friend and fellow musician—Chan—had offered to set him up with a roommate. 

Changbin trusted Chan, so when Chan asked if he’d be willing to meet up with someone the next day Changbin had readily agreed.

Now, though, he wishes maybe he hadn’t.

Because the first thing Seungmin says when Changbin steps into the room—which is actually a full-on laboratory, at that—behind Chan is not a “hello,” or a “good afternoon.” 

In fact, Seungmin doesn’t even address Changbin at first. (Which is a bit rude, if you ask Changbin.)

The very first sentence Changbin hears out of Seungmin’s mouth is: “Chan, could I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.”

Changbin ignores the twinge of annoyance he feels when his presence is completely ignored, but decides to be chivalrous about the situation, offering his own phone instead. “Here, use mine,” he says, stepping forward, carefully avoiding all the beakers and flasks of various substances that he’d rather not accidentally tip over, thank you very much. 

Seungmin finally looks up from the microscope he’s bent over, sharp eyes skimming over Changbin for the first time in a way that makes Changbin feel unusually self-conscious. “Oh, thank you,” Seungmin says, taking Changbin’s unlocked phone. 

“This is my friend Seo Changbin—” Chan begins. 

“So, did you just graduate from the university two blocks down or from the one the downtown?” Seungmin cuts in. 

“Uh, what—” Changbin starts to say. 

“Which is it?” Seungmin persists. 

“The one downtown,” Changbin slowly replies, interest piqued. “Say, how did you know?” He looks over at Chan. “Did you tell him a lot about me?”

Chan shakes his head. “No. Really, I didn’t tell him a word. Didn’t even tell him we were going to be stopping by. He just… he just tends to pick up on these sorts of things, you know?”

_Not really,_ Changbin thinks. Out loud, he asks, “How _did_ you know, then?”

“That’s easy,” Seungmin replies, tapping out something on Changbin’s phone and Changbin can only hope that Seungmin doesn’t come across anything personal on it. He continues matter-of-factly: “There’s only one reason Chan would have brought you here, and that’s because I made an offhand comment to him the other day about possibly getting a roommate. Chan has a lot of friends from college. But someone looking for a roommate probably wouldn’t still be in college, so chances are that you’ve just graduated and lost your living space.” 

“Er, okay…” Changbin replies, because what else can he say to that?

“How do you feel about the violin?” Seungmin asks, before Changbin can even start to formulate a proper sentence. 

The question catches Changbin off guard. “Sorry, what?” he asks. It seems like he’s only been switching between two states of mind since he walked in—confused, and very, _very_ confused. 

“I play the violin,” Seungmin says. “Also, sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? I mean, potential roommates should know the worst about each other.”

“I guess not…” Changbin finally says after he takes in the words. “Actually, I’m quite into music myself—”

“You’d have to be, or you wouldn’t be friends with Chan,” Seungmin cuts him off again, and Changbin feels like the man’s behavior is verging on insolent at this point. “Violin is the only way _I_ even got to know Chan,” he mutters. “Anyway, you must also be a producer, then?”

(Now he’s confused _and_ annoyed.) Changbin grits his teeth, wishing he could just finish one coherent sentence. “Yes. I—”

Seungmin hands him his phone back. “You probably have some good experience; you’ve composed or written lyrics for a decent amount of songs. Chan probably helped hook you up with some people, but you’re still looking for a proper job, right?”

“I- what,” Changbin gapes, flabbergasted, taking his phone. Seungmin’s words are spot on.

Chan just shrugs at him. _Chan, what the fuck did you get me into,_ Changbin thinks. _Did you really think I’d enjoy rooming with someone like this?_ He can already feel the beginnings of a headache working itself into his temples. 

“That was also obvious.” Seungmin points out. “You seem like the type of person that prefers living alone, so you wouldn’t be looking for a roommate if you had a nice job.”

“Are you sure you even didn’t give him my name before this?” Changbin looks at Chan skeptically. “Like, are you sure he really didn’t just do some social media stalking to find all this?”

“Nope,” Chan says, sighing. “But look, he _is_ a good person at heart. If you can get past his… the way his mind works,” Chan continues. “I think you might enjoy rooming with him.”

_I think I might not,_ Changbin thinks. Only two minutes in, and this guy has already gotten on his nerves. But damn, he needs a roommate. He won’t be able to afford any apartment without one. He just really _really_ doesn’t think Seungmin is a good match, contrary to what Chan thinks.

“So I’ve got my eyes on an apartment a block down from here,” Seungmin starts up again. “I think we should be able to afford it together.”

“Wait, I’m not sure if—” Changbin begins. 

“Let’s meet there tomorrow at seven,” Seungmin continues, unperturbed. “Look, sorry, I’ve really got to go. I have to be at the mortuary right about now.”

“That’s it?” Changbin almost yells. ( _The hell is going on? The mortuary???_ He thinks). “We’ve literally just met, and you want to go look at an apartment? We don’t really know a thing about each other. I don’t even know your _name_ , and I definitely don’t know where this apartment is—hell, I didn’t even agree to this yet!”

“Well, _I_ know that you’ve just graduated, and that you have another friend you could have asked to room with you but you didn’t want to bother him, possibly because he’s a busy, but more likely because he, unlike you, is still in college and is thus in the draw next year for a dorm with someone else already.” 

_That would be Jisung,_ Changbin thinks. “What the fuck,” he says instead. 

The only thing _Changbin_ thinks he knows about the person in front of him is that the guy’s a chemist—maybe. After all, this is an elaborate laboratory. But, again, what sort of chemist goes to the _mortuary_? 

“And I know that you enjoy your dark-colored getup,” Seungmin gestures to Changbin’s black jacket, grey pants, and the black cap pulled over his head. “But that deep down you actually have a soft spot for colors and aren’t nearly as tough as you seem to be.”

“What the fuck,” Changbin says again. He’s confused, annoyed, and highly intimidated. Really, who does this hotshot think he is?

“The name’s Kim Seungmin,” Kim Seungmin says—in a sense, answering the question for him. “And the address is 325 District Street.”

Then he’s out the door, leaving Changbin and Chan by themselves in the expensive laboratory. 

\---

Even if Seungmin claims he hasn’t stalked Changbin, Changbin’s dubious about it. He also doesn’t want Seungmin to have the upper hand. 

So when he gets home, the first thing he types into the Google search bar on his laptop is “Kim Seungmin.” A multitude of results appear. Most are irrelevant, pointing to other Kim Seungmins or spouting nonsense for the clickbait. But one link does catch Changbin’s eye, a website titled the “Science of Deduction.” Upon scrolling through some of the pages, Changbin finds that this is a site Seungmin runs, and determines that Seungmin is a detective of some sort (so it’s a _forensics laboratory,_ he realizes), someone who can apparently do things like identify people by the clothing they wear, or by their _left thumbs._ Details, Changbin thinks. But he still can’t understand how Seungmin could have figured out about Jisung, or how Changbin really does like pretty pastels even if half his wardrobe is black and white. 

Changbin doesn’t know what compels him to turn up at the address the next day, and he doesn’t know what compels him to actually end up agreeing to this entire arrangement with Seungmin—other than the cheaper cost. But before he knows it, they’re… flatmates. (At least they don’t have to share a room. Changbin’s not sure if he could have lived with that.)

If only Changbin had known the full extent of what he’d gotten himself into.

\---

325 District Street is actually a nice place—when you ignore… the _things_ . It does have a cozy feel to it, with bookshelves that Seungmin has filled and some armchairs that are definitely comfy. But with Seungmin living with him, this isn’t just a normal apartment, Changbin quickly learns, when he opens the fridge one day only to find a _human head_ on one of the shelves. 

Yeah, given the nature of their first meeting, Changbin really should have expected to find that Seungmin isn’t just any regular detective. 

Actually, minus the weird objects that turn up throughout the apartment every now and then, rooming with Seungmin isn’t that bad. For the most part, Changbin does a lot of job-hunting outside, and when he’s in the apartment he’s usually holed up in his room on his laptop producing music, so he doesn’t even see much of Seungmin’s face most days. 

To be honest, Changbin still isn’t quite sure what exactly Seungmin does for a living. He does know that Seungmin’s a sort of detective, or “consulting detective,” as Seungmin had insisted once. But the rest of it is pretty vague—Changbin generally tries to avoid the various body parts and test tubes and scary-as-heck (Changbin’s pretty sure he’s never seen a sword that big) weapons that Seungmin sometimes leaves out on the table. Also, Changbin’s pretty sure the police have visited their apartment multiple times to talk to Seungmin, and maybe Changbin shouldn’t be eavesdropping but he’s pretty sure the police always come to ask Seungmin for _help_? 

Whatever, Changbin decides. It’s none of his business, not when Seungmin has found this apartment at a good price—and is paying for half of it.

But for some strange reason, Changbin ends up being dragged into one of Seungmin’s “cases” one day. 

Changbin is standing in the kitchen boiling hot water for a cup of tea (he’s trying to lay off the heavy caffeine present in coffee since it’s been causing him headaches recently) when he hears Seungmin emerge from his room to sit in one of the armchairs in the living room. 

“Could I have a cup of tea too?” Seungmin calls from his seat. 

_Make it yourself,_ Changbin thinks. “Good morning to you too,” he replies back instead, grudgingly pouring the rest of the steaming liquid into a second cup. 

Changbin flops into the armchair across from Seungmin, setting the two cups down on the small table between them. Seungmin looks up at that, and reaches forward to take his cup. There’s a brief moment where the two make horribly awkward eye contact (or at least it feels awkward on Changbin’s part—he has no idea what Seungmin is ever thinking). Seungmin breaks it first, bringing the cup to his mouth and glancing away.

“A thank you would be nice,” Changbin says, sighing. Not that he expects anything, because he’s learned by now that Seungmin is… different. Not that Seungmin doesn’t necessarily have manners, but just that Seungmin doesn’t seem to understand the need to use them. In short, Changbin’s pretty sure that Seungmin’s been stuck under a rock his entire life when it comes to using proper social conventions. 

And, as expected, no further comment from Seungmin. Changbin sighs again, leaning into the armchair. To say he feels uncomfortable would be an understatement. Changbin tries not to think about it, resorting to quietly sipping his tea and staring out the apartment window behind Seungmin. Seungmin just seems to be deep in thought, mumbling incoherently under his breath between sips. Changbin catches the words _suicides_ and _three,_ and decides that _no_ , he does not need to know what Seungmin is thinking. 

Seungmin’s phone dings, disrupting the relative silence. “Fourth,” he mutters, but there’s a glimmer in his eye that makes him look strangely delighted. “Okay, let’s go,” Seungmin says loudly, standing up and shrugging on his jacket. 

“Excuse me, what did you just say?” Changbin asks, looking up. 

“I need an assistant,” Seungmin presses on, the firm tone of his voice leaving no room for an argument. 

“Uh… me?” Changbin points to himself. No, there’s nobody else in the room, but why Seungmin would even suggest him is puzzling, to say the least. 

“I need an assistant,” Seungmin repeats. “Because I absolutely cannot work with any of those policemen. I hate Minho—he gets on my nerves all the time. And Hyunjin…that’s just not a good idea. So you’ll have to come with me.”

As if Changbin knows who any of those people are. 

“Yes, you, Seo Changbin,” Seungmin continues. Changbin thinks that’s the first time he’s heard his entire name come out of Seungmin’s mouth, which is kind of sad considering they’ve been living together almost two weeks now.

Seungmin is already halfway out the door. “Hurry up,” he calls out. “This is an exciting new development!” 

And then right before he completely disappears outside, Seungmin fucking _beams_ at him. (And there are _stars_ in his eyes, Changbin notices.)

And he promptly almost chokes on his tea because he’s pretty sure Seungmin has never smiled that widely, that genuinely, and almost chokes again when he finds himself thinking that the smile, coupled with the shining eyes, is a good look on Seungmin. Then his brain catches up to him and he realizes he has to get moving because he supposes he should take this one opportunity to tag along with Seungmin. And he wonders—what exactly was in that text to have gotten the detective in such a good mood?

Changbin leaves his sad cup of tea unfinished and throws on his own jacket, shoving his feet into his shoes and scrambling to catch up with Seungmin. 

Because maybe he is a little intrigued. Maybe he wants to see just exactly what made Seungmin show real emotion on his face, and just how exactly Seungmin’s brain works in action, how he figures out so many things from the tiniest details. 

Which is how he ends up standing over a dead body. 

(Seungmin gets excited over mysterious cases that seem unsolvable to the average person, Changbin learns. That’s the answer to his first question, and yet another reminder that Seungmin is not the average person.)

“Um, what should I be doing here, as your… assistant?” Changbin pipes up meekly. All things considered, Changbin tells himself that at least he’s handling this entire situation pretty well. 

Seungmin is bent over the body—a woman clothed in pink from head to toe—inspecting its clothes, face, hands, shoes… pretty much everything. Changbin can only stand there, feeling very lost and definitely also trying to ignore the death in the room. 

Seungmin ignores him. 

“Seungmin, can you _please_ be careful not to contaminate the evidence?” A policeman steps into the room, frowning. “And you only have one more minute.”

“Inspector Lee,” Seungmin retorts, not bothering to look up. “If you want the case solved then you’ll shut up.”

“And who are you?” The policeman turns to Changbin, eyebrows furrowed. Changbin would probably furrow his own eyebrows at himself—he certainly doesn’t belong in the scene. 

“I’m—” Changbin begins. 

“Minho, he’s my assistant,” Seungmin butts in. “And also the person co-renting our apartment, Seo Changbin.”

Inspector Lee—Minho—gapes at him. “Assistant…” he says, slowly. 

“Really just his flatmate,” Changbin corrects. “Honestly, I’m not even sure why—”

“Where’s this woman’s suitcase?” Seungmin interrupts. “Minho, where’s her suitcase?”

“There was no suitcase,” Minho replies. 

Another policeman steps into the room. “Time’s up,” he says. 

“ _Hyunjin,_ ” Seungmin sternly addresses the newcomer. “Did she have a suitcase?”

“No…” Hyunjin tells him. 

“She had to have one,” Seungmin says. “It was raining earlier. And there are splashes of mud on the back of her leg—the pattern of splashes could have only been from a small, wheeled suitcase.”

“That’s actually… really smart?” Changbin says. Out loud. The entire room swivels to stare at him.

“Sorry,” Changbin says, when all eyes—including Seungmin’s pleasantly surprised ones—turn to him and he wishes he had worn his usual dark baseball cap to shield his face. But alas, Changbin had forgotten it in a rush to leave the building and follow Seungmin, so he endures the feeling of being exposed for a second until the eyes swivel back.

Seungmin is the first to start talking again. “So the killer must have made a mistake—disposed of the evidence somewhere. Minho, could you trace the path back—”

“On it,” Minho cuts in this time, darting out the room. 

Changbin’s still reeling from how quickly Seungmin was able to compile all the details together and further the investigation—he’s never felt simultaneously so awed and so lost (and so _unintelligent,_ in comparison) before. 

Hyunjin turns to Changbin this time, though the way he’s speaking makes it seem like he’s talking to himself. “You’re not Seungmin’s friend, are you? No… couldn’t be, because Seungmin doesn’t have friends.” _Ouch_. Changbin almost can’t help but feel a bit bad for Seungmin.

“I live with him?” Changbin hesitantly says instead. 

Hyunjin’s jaw drops. He sputters incoherently. Then: “I’m sorry.” He pats Changbin on the shoulder, pity evident in his touch. “But at least your manners are much better—say, maybe you could teach him how to act a bit human, for once.”

Okay, so maybe Changbin kind of wishes he had just stayed at home. 

\---

One day, the policemen come over. 

That is a strange day.

Not because of the policemen—Changbin’s gotten used to them because they frequent the apartment a lot, always impatiently asking Seungmin questions while the detective calmly answers. It’s because Changbin actually _almost_ has a proper talk with Seungmin, and then offers to help Seungmin in pretty much the only way he can.

Look, he’s pretty sure his “assistant” title had only been coined by Seungmin as a one-time thing. And he’s pretty sure he’s about as useful as the dust that lines their bookshelves, anyway, so. 

_But_ —even though Seungmin is ridiculously smart, Changbin is starting to realize that the detective can’t be good at absolutely everything.

Changbin happens to be out in the living room. He probably looks like an idiot smiling at his laptop, but it’s because he’d just gotten an email from a local producing company that they wanted him to come back and start working with them the next week. 

Seungmin drops into the armchair across from Changbin, clearing his throat. Changbin glances up at the sound, before resuming his email-checking. He’s gotten used to Seungmin randomly entering into the living room at times, and by now he’s gotten used to the silence, too, to the point where it doesn’t feel awkward. 

Seungmin coughs and clears his throat again. “Changbin,” he says. 

Changbin’s head jerks up this time. After all, it isn’t everyday that Kim Seungmin addresses you by your actual name.

“How are you doing?” Seungmin asks. 

Changbin’s jaw drops. Literally. In the three weeks he’s been living here Seungmin has rarely initialized conversation, let alone _small talk._ Changbin’s pretty sure Seungmin and his complex brain think that small talk is pointless concept anyway. 

So, yeah. Suffice to say, that had not been what Changbin was expecting. 

And it feels all too weird and very not like Kim Seungmin.

Changbin flails for an answer and somehow ends up spouting the truth. “Pretty shit, honestly, until I got this email today which means I finally have a job.”

Seungmin nods. Slowly. “I see,” he says. 

_Oh, god._ It hadn’t been awkward before but now it certainly is. Changbin almost feels like he should teach Seungmin a thing or two about conversing with people. 

“What about you?” Changbin asks back. 

For five seconds, Seungmin looks like he’s having an internal struggle. Changbin wonders just how much emotion Seungmin really experiences, and is kind of curious as to how Seungmin might respond. 

“I’m… bored,” Seungmin finally settles on the words. Then he stands up and starts pacing throughout the living room. “Solved eight cases this week but none of them were interesting. They were all too easy. _Too easy,”_ he repeats. “Why can’t someone smarter commit a well thought-out crime?”

“Uh,” Changbin says, rather timidly. “Wouldn’t it be best to wish for as few crimes as possible? I mean… there’s people getting robbed, getting hurt, dying…”

Seungmin scoffs. “You’re… _normal._ You don’t get it.”

Well okay. Changbin knows he isn’t the smartest human to grace the earth, but that’s not very nice. Also Seungmin basically just killed the conversation. 

He remembers what that one policeman had said to him the other day… Hyunjin, was it? _Maybe you could teach him how to act a bit human, for once,_ Hyunjin had said. 

“Seungmin,” Changbin hesitantly begins. “What do you know about the art of… socializing?”

Seungmin squints at him. Then he breaks into an actual laugh, a sort of breathy giggle and that had _not_ been what Changbin was expecting. To be honest, Changbin can’t tell if the sight of Seungmin laughing is creepy or not. This laugh also sounds kind of condescending, but maybe that’s just how Seungmin is. 

“Socializing,” Seungmin echoes, flatly, laughter dying out. 

“Yeah,” Changbin says. And then, because he can’t resist: “Or, you know, maybe how to be polite and have manners when talking to people.”

“Why would I need that?” The detective nearly sneers at him, and it’s starting to get on Changbin’s nerves. “I’m here to solve crimes, not waste time talking to others.”

“But,” Changbin says. (Stay calm _,_ he thinks, _stay calm._ ) “Have you considered—maybe if you were a bit nicer with your words then others would open up to you faster, or give you more information. And then you’d waste _less_ time.”

Seungmin stops pacing and stares at Changbin. Changbin tries not to wiggle under his unwavering eyes. It’s like Seungmin is seeing Changbin in a new light for the first time. 

“Okay,” Seungmin slowly says. “Where do I begin?”

  
  
  


The policemen come later that day—Minho and someone else whom Changbin doesn’t recognize. 

Changbin listens to their conversation from the kitchen table; the kitchen is adjacent to the living room, where they’re talking to Seungmin.

For the most part, it’s a conversation that Changbin can barely wrap his head around. The words _artifact_ and _graffiti_ and _suicide_ circulate around the apartment multiple times and Changbin still hasn’t understood what they’re really talking about. 

Then suddenly Seungmin raises his voice. “No, no, _no,_ ” he says irritably. “You’ve all got it wrong!”

Changbin stands up, pushing his chair back as he enters the living room.  
  
“Seungmin,” he says, looking at the man sternly (he almost feels like a parent reprimanding their child). “What did we say about manners?” Seungmin won’t meet his eyes, and if Changbin had to say Seungmin _almost_ looks apologetic. Not quite though, because Seungmin mostly still looks frustrated at the policemen. 

To the police, Changbin says, “Sorry about that.”

Minho shrugs. The other policeman in the room looks at him strangely. 

“Eh, it’s fine. I got used to it,” Minho says. “That’s kind of just how he is.”

“Right,” Changbin says. But seriously, if Seungmin could just… try to be nice. 

“Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?” the second policeman asks Changbin. Changbin most nearly rolls his eyes, because _not this again._

“Does it matter? I live here,” Changbin says simply, and leaves it at that. 

“No, I mean… could I get your number?” The policeman asks, shyness creeping into his voice this time. 

Changbin blinks, caught off-guard. The policeman blinks back at him. 

Okay, technically, the guy _is_ sort of cute, with a button nose and fluffy, dyed-blond hair.

“ _What_ are you doing?” Seungmin butts in, sounding even more irritated than before, eyes flitting between Changbin and the policeman. “We were in the middle of discussing a case.”

Changbin sighs, and gives Seungmin a pointed look that says _Yes, but please do not skewer the policemen while you try to explain your findings to them._ He’s not sure if Seungmin’s going to follow through with that, though.

Also, he can most nearly feel the other policeman’s eyes on him as he trails back to the kitchen. 

Changbin still ends up slipping his number to the policeman as they’re leaving, and later that night he gets a message from the guy, who introduces himself as Felix. Felix is much easier to talk to than Seungmin, and Changbin falls asleep texting him that night.

\---

“Get up.” There’s a pair of hands firmly shaking his shoulders. 

Changbin jerks awake. The first thing he sees is Seungmin’s face, _way_ too close for comfort. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Changbin shouts, trying to wiggle out of Seungmin’s grip. 

It doesn’t work. And Seungmin’s face hovering over his is still too close—Changbin could count Seungmin’s eyelashes, if he really wanted to. (He doesn’t.)

What he really wants to do is go back to sleep. The first rays of sun are barely poking through the curtains and it’s a Saturday, dammit. 

That is, if Seungmin would let him.

“Get up,” Seungmin tells him again, his hands insistently shaking him again. 

“I’m awake!” Changbin almost yells at Seungmin, and the latter finally removes his hands, leaning back. 

Changbin rubs his eyes. “I thought you were going to try to be nicer,” he says. “You can’t just rudely order me around first thing in the morning,” he says, pushing himself up into a sitting position on the bed.

“You have to help me,” Seungmin says, and he looks bashful. Shy. Changbin rubs his eyes again—he can’t be seeing this correctly.

“Please?” Seungmin adds, and the anxious expression on his face is still there.

Changbin just wants to go back to sleep. He can’t deal with this—can’t deal with Seungmin acting out of the ordinary and exhibiting _human_ emotions at six in the morning.

“What is it?” he asks anyway, because, well, now he _is_ awake.

“My parents are visiting today,” Seungmin tells him. 

“Okay?” Changbin says. He almost laughs. “That’s it? No strange unexplainable murders or criminals on the loose?” 

“I think we both know that I wouldn’t come to you for help solving a case,” Seungmin tells him, flatly. 

Changbin winces. He is used to Seungmin’s blunt comments, but it seems like Seungmin has still not gotten any better at what comes out of his mouth.

Seungmin, actually, seems to realize that too, and his eyes widen. 

“See? This is why I need your help,” Seungmin says. “Can you help me talk to my parents? I told them I’d be busy but they wouldn’t listen—they’re dropping by for a couple hours just to see how things are in our new apartment.”

“Just talk to them?” Changbin asks. “Um… also, they are _your_ parents, after all. I mean, I would imagine that they would have heard tons of rude comments out of your mouth before.” 

“No… please?” Seungmin asks him again. “I may or may not have an injured person in my room right now that I need to talk to so could you just keep them busy when they come over?”

Well… Changbin has almost learned not to question these scenarios. Almost. “Why can’t you just keep your parents out of your room?” he asks. 

“It’s a criminal,” Seungmin tells him. 

_Holy shit there’s a criminal under the same roof?_ Changbin thinks. So this is what they mean when they say ignorance is bliss. 

“Don’t worry, I knocked them unconscious,” Seungmin says. “But I need to be there when they wake up and that’s probably when my parents are going to be coming in a couple hours.”

“Okay…” Changbin says. “And the criminal isn’t at the police station, because?”

“I need answers from them myself,” Seungmin tells him. “I told you, the policemen are unintelligent and I simply cannot work with them.”

Changbin takes a deep breath, dragging a hand over his face. Not for the first time, he wonders what the _hell_ Chan was thinking when he pointed him to Seungmin to share an apartment with.

He sighs. “Fine. I’ll help you out. No guarantees it’ll work as planned, though.”

“Thank you,” Seungmin says earnestly, grinning at Changbin with a bright smile. 

Changbin’s heart stutters and he ignores it, laying back down on his bed and facing the wall this time so he doesn’t have to look at Seungmin any longer.

“Yeah—well, wake me back up again when they come,” he says, and that’s that. (Miraculously, he still manages to fall back asleep even with the knowledge that Seungmin’s hidden a criminal in his room, but he’ll take it. He needs the energy for later.)

  
  
  


Given the nature of how Seungmin acts and speaks, Changbin expected his parents to be less… normal. But that’s a relief because _normal_ is what Changbin can work with. 

Though he still feels guilty lying to Seungmins’ parents that he’s not at home and it’s certainly awkward sitting in the living room trying to answer their unrelenting questions ( _How’s Seungmin doing? Is he causing you any troubles? What do you do for a living?)_ as well as fumbling for responses to their (incorrect) assumptions ( _You must be a good friend of his if you two are living together! I’m so glad Seungmin’s finally found someone like you to live with!)_

But they seem satisfied despite the fact that they never actually get to see their son, and leave fairly soon; after an hour of Changbin shooting cordial smiles and trying not to spread too many lies, he finally escorts them out of apartment 325 and breathes in a relieved sigh. 

When Changbin (very hesitantly) opens the door to Seungmin’s room, afraid of what he might see, but it’s _empty._ There’s a bed and a bookshelf and a desk littered with various items and concoctions but no people in sight. Then Seungmin steps out from behind the door and Changbin lets out a small shriek and Seungmin laughs at him. 

“Sorry,” Seungmin says, sounding absolutely _not_ sorry. “I heard your footsteps approaching and I couldn’t resist. And if you’re wondering, I questioned and took the criminal to the police station already,” he says, which leaves Changbin to then wonder if there was even a criminal in Seungmin’s room in the first place, because he’s pretty sure he would have noticed if he saw two people leave the apartment.

_Or maybe Seungmin just has his ways,_ Changbin thinks as his heartbeat returns to its regular speed. “Well—I just wanted to tell you that your parents are gone now.”

“Thanks again,” Seungmin tells him. “Really.”

“Er… you’re welcome,” Changbin says, spinning on his heels. 

“No—wait,” he hears Seungmin blurt out. The words sound rushed, and that alone causes him to turn back around.

“I also wanted to say that I’m sorry,” Seungmin says.

_What._

“I realized that I haven’t been the… kindest… flatmate,” Seungmin says, and Changbin tries to stop himself from grimacing on the spot. 

“Um… I guess I’ll try to do better as a person from now on,” Seungmin continues. “I thought about what you said before and it _is_ a lot smarter and my best interests that I get along with others.”

Changbin can’t resist the smile that is tugging his lips up. Of course Seungmin would think things over but _of course_ he would go with the _smarter_ idea and what was in _his best interests._ Still, he supposes it's an improvement.

“That’s good,” Changbin tells him. And because he can’t resist being just a bit snarky, he points at Seungmin’s chest and says, “Glad you actually have a heart in there.”

“I wouldn’t be alive if I didn’t have one,” Seungmin replies, cocking an eyebrow. Changbin rolls his eyes and is about to say _that’s not what I meant_ when he sees that Seungmin is smirking at him. Joking. 

The great private detective Kim Seungmin is capable of humor? Changbin thinks everything might be okay, after all. 

\---

“Good evening!” is the greeting Changbin gets when he gets back from work the next day. The words are loud and chirpy and Changbin almost trips in the doorway when he hears them. 

“Good evening?” he returns, albeit a bit more hesitant. “Why so cheery?”

Seungmin is propped up in his armchair, swirling a half-empty glass of wine in his hand while his eyes follow its flowing movements. So maybe that’s the answer. 

“Let’s go get dinner together!” Seungmin declares, standing up and downing the rest of the wine in one gulp. 

“Er… okay?” he says. 

“I solved a particularly interesting case today,” Seungmin announces, eyes sparkling more than any cupful of cider as he passes Changbin by on the way to the kitchen to rinse out his glass. “I think that calls for a celebration.” 

Now _that_ is definitely the answer to Changbin’s question. Seungmin doesn’t look tipsy at all—so he probably barely drank much—but Changbin knows how Seungmin rides his crime-solving like its own high instead.

“Didn’t want to celebrate with the police instead?” Changbin asks. 

“ _I_ solved the case, not them,” Seungmin says obviously. Then he adds, “but I was nicer about it, of course,” careful to emphasize the word _nicer_ as he looks Changbin in the eye. “Besides, I wanted to get dinner with _you,_ ” Seungmin tells him. 

“Okay…” Changbin says again. 

“I mean, this is the proper way for two people to get to know each other, right?” Seungmin says, glancing curiously at Changbin. “I could just analyze you like I would normally do with everyone. But according to Google this is how I’m actually supposed to do it?”

Changbin snickers as he imagines the strange sight of Seungmin relying on Google for topics such as this as he slips on more comfortable shoes. His chest feels a bit fuzzy at the thought that Seungmin put in effort for him, though. And he supposes this is Seungmin trying to be nice, but honestly, if Changbin didn’t know better, he’d think Seungmin was asking him on a date. 

Which he’s not. This is just Seungmin being… Seungmin. However, maybe Changbin can get him to pay for his dinner. And they can actually talk like two normal people. 

“Speaking of analyzing, how _did_ you figure out all those things the first time we met?” Changbin asks as they step outside. “Like the stuff about my friend, and… what colors I like, and all that.”

Seungmin grins and Changbin does _not_ like the look of it. “Well… you know how you lent me your phone?” he begins. 

Oh. _Oh._ “What did you see?” Changbin demands, suddenly nervous. There’s nothing real self-incriminating on there, but he has some _interesting_ photos from the end of his last year of university and late-night partying. 

“Don’t worry, nothing much,” Seungmin informs him, clearly enjoying the conversation. “I only used it to send an email to someone. But—Changbin—you do realize what the background of your phone’s home screen is, right?”

_Ha._ It’s a plain lavender background with a small, cutely sketched-out rabbit in the middle. Changbin hadn’t realized that was what had clued Seungmin in because it’s such a regular part of his life that it’s not something he pays much notice to. 

Anyway, it could be worse, Changbin thinks. Half of his closet does consist of lighter-colored items hidden behind darker ones, and Seungmin’s probably seen him wear the entire spectrum since they’ve moved into the apartment, but _still._

“And here I thought you used some ingenious detective prowess to figure that out,” Changbin complains. “But wait—how’d you know that I had a friend still in uni?”

“Got a message from a contact under “Jisung” when I was typing up the message. And I just guessed that he was still in uni or you wouldn’t be looking for a roommate,” Seungmin says, sly smile creeping up his face. “Anyway, you should change up what you wear in public more often. Like that pink sweater you wore once—you look good in it.”

Against his will, Changbin’s face flushes its own shade of rosy pink. 

Seungmin’s still grinning as they cross the street to one of the local pasta places, oblivious to Changbin’s reaction. “That was good, right?” he asks. “I’m trying to get better at complimenting people.”

So Changbin is digging his own grave. He had tried to get Seungmin to be less rude and indifferent. And again, with anyone else, that might be considered that _flirting,_ but this is Seungmin, of course. And it’s not like he wants this to be flirting, anyway—though Changbin’s surprised that Seungmin even paid any attention to what he occasionally wore around the apartment in the first place—because Seungmin flirting? The thought is just… weird. 

And that causes Changbin to cackle to himself as he imagines what sort of shocked looks any of the regular policemen might sport when Seungmin decides to start practicing his compliments on them. Changbin thinks he’s definitely going to need to witness that. 

  
  
  


Dinner does not turn out to be _just_ dinner, and Changbin should have expected it when he went out to eat with Kim Seungmin. After they down their scrumptious plates of pasta and have an actual conversation in which Changbin talks about the music he’s producing and Seungmin mostly listens (and actually sounds somewhat interested?) Seungmin insists on dragging Changbin to watch a show. 

And Changbin thought it was going to be the movies. 

Stupid, _stupid_ Changbin. 

He ends up following Seungmin into a circus tent surrounded by red lanterns and with the words “The Yellow Dragon Circus” scratched out in front. Only after they enter does Seungmin cheerily inform him that they’re here because he’s trying to accost a killer. 

Changbin almost bolts out of the tent on the spot. 

“I thought you just finished up one of your cases!” Changbin knows he sounds like a whiny, petulant child, but he wanted a carefree and celebratory night out, not a night out that involved putting his life in danger.

“Yes, but this one’s been ongoing and I think I have a lead,” Seungmin tells him, lowering his voice as the lights dim and performers enter. 

Then Changbin almost has a second heart attack because he realizes that this isn’t a normal performance. Sure, the people may be dressed in traditional Chinese garb and pounding out drum beats on the large bass drums, but the show goes a bit differently.

A woman in sweeping robes presents something that looks like a ballista and a crossbow all in one and nope _nope nopity nope_ an arrow just shot out of it and embedded itself deep into a plank of wood. 

And then a guy is strapped into the plank at the opposite end of the stage and the woman re-equips the arrow and loads the ballista with a bag of sand this time as well and _holy shit_ Changbin realizes the sand is slowly leaking out of the bag and the guy has to escape his bonds before the time runs out. And this is still a show and the guy escapes just barely but when Changbin turns to the side to ask Seungmin if he can maybe… pop out of the tent for a minute (and sneak back home)... Seungmin’s gone.

Shit. Seungmin’s gone. 

Not that Changbin needs him for support or anything, but he knows there is a _killer_ here.

Changbin’s heart rate, still high from the crossbow trick, kicks into overdrive.

The next act starts—the announcer calls it the “deadly spider” and a man wearing dark clothes and a mask walks onto stage and starts climbing the red ropes dangling from above. Admittedly, it’s pretty cool—it’s clear the man has expert control over his body from the way he fluidly navigates the ropes. But where…. where is Seungmin? 

Changbin finds out a moment later.

Bursting through the curtains at the back of the stage are two figures—one, another masked performer wearing a flowing red mask over black armor, and two, Seungmin, (very clearly _not_ a performer) in a scruffy grey jacket and jeans and no mask. There’s a moment where the two grapple on-stage and then Seungmin momentarily pushes the masked individual back and screams his name— “Changbin!” and he sounds _scared_ and Changbin’s heart pumps faster than ever.

Changbin thinks it must be the adrenaline. He runs onto stage and picks up one of the wooden planks and runs at the masked man from the side, slamming the plank down on him and then he and Seungmin are running out of the tent into the night.

Changbin later learns that when the police had rolled up minutes later, the tent had been found empty. 

  
  
  


Anyway, Changbin curls up on his bed that night to video call Jisung because _oh man_ does he have a story to tell. And as Jisung pipes in with his boisterous laughter and snarky jokes Changbin tries to forget that his flatmate is a detective and maybe not exactly a conventional one at that, either. It somewhat works.

(Maybe Changbin is open to bonding with Seungmin, but _not_ over a shared near-death experience.)

So… Changbin doesn’t take up Seungmin’s proposition the next time the latter offers to have dinner, even when Seungmin repeatedly insists it will just be dinner. 

Although the thought does stick with Changbin that his spur-of-the moment bad-guy beatdown may have made him just a little more qualified to hold the title of Seungmin’s assistant. 

But it’s not like he wants to do that again or actually be Seungmin’s assistant, though. Right? _Right??_

\---

The police sirens are getting increasingly louder until they come to a stop at the apartment, but Changbin doesn’t think much of it. It is almost midnight, but the police have come over so many times—even if they don’t normally have their sirens on—that Changbin continues humming out a melody to match a section of a track he’s working on. 

Then the door to his room swings open and Changbin turns around to see Seungmin clad in a white t-shirt and boxers. Except… half of his shirt is smeared in blood. 

“Holy shit,” Changbin gasps out, taking off his headphones. “Are you okay? How come I didn’t hear anything?”

“I was half-asleep when an intruder sprang through the window and tried to stab me in my bed,” Seungmin says plainly. “Luckily, I heard them open the window—so the blood is the intruder’s, not mine,” he continues. “Probably someone looking for some publicity since my name seems to have gotten into the newspapers lately. You didn’t hear anything because I dealt with them quietly. I taught them a lesson and called the police,” he explains, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“Uh-huh,” Changbin says. Living with Seungmin, he’s been conditioned not to be surprised by much, but he is still, admittedly, stunned. And Seungmin talks like this is a normal occurrence. Maybe it is—for him. 

“I’m not hurt,” Seungmin emphasizes. Changbin still has a hard time taking his eyes off the deep red stain that spans the short sleeve of his left arm and some of his upper chest. Seungmin must have really done a number on the intruder. 

“But… I’ll definitely have to wash the bedsheets. They look even worse. And the sofa’s lumpy, so mind if I sleep here for the night?” Seungmin asks. 

“That’s fine,” Changbin says absentmindedly. “You’re not hurt at all?”

“I think I would know if I were,” Seungmin tells him, laughing brazenly as he walks out of the room. Changbin hears rustling, followed by the faint hum of the washing machine turning on out at the end of the hallway. Then he hears the shower turn on as well. 

A few minutes later, Seungmin comes back into the room in a fresh t-shirt and proceeds to flop onto Changbin’s bed, over the blankets, without a word. Changbin is about to return to his laptop screen when he hears an “oh” quietly mumbled into the pillows. “What?” he asks. 

“I wanted to thank you for saving my life that one time back at the circus,” Seungmin tells him, rolling over so he’s facing Changbin. “I realized I never properly did, so thank you.”

“Um… you’re welcome?” Changbin replies. It’s not like he _really_ did that much; hearing how Seungmin silently treated the intruder in his room just now, Changbin imagines that Seungmin probably would have found a way to deal with the masked guy in the circus.

“Sorry for bringing you there. That probably wasn’t a great idea,” Seungmin continues. 

“Well, we can’t do much about it _now_ , can we?” Changbin asks, and it comes out a bit harsh, which is not what he intended. “I mean, it’s over now. Luckily, none of us were hurt, so let’s just forget about it, right?”

“Right,” Seungmin laughs drily. Then his voice gets a bit quieter. “I won’t do it again. So will you join me for dinner again sometime?”

Changbin averts his eyes; he thought he hadn’t been too rude about turning Seungmin down the last time. And why did Seungmin have to use that tone of voice? That timid, soft voice that worms itself into the cracks in Changbin’s resolve and plants itself there, unrelenting.

“Maybe,” Changbin says.

He makes the mistake of glancing back at Seungmin. Who is now staring at the ceiling, his teeth chewing his bottom lip and his feet twitching nervously. In times like this, Changbin is reminded that Seungmin is still human with worries, even when he possesses an exceptionally intelligent mind and makes his skills and presence known as a detective when he needs to.

Changbin sighs. “Okay, I will,” he says. 

“Yes!” Seungmin half-heartedly pumps his fist. Changbin cracks a smile. 

When Changbin finally lowers himself into his bed later that night he has to gently push away Seungmin’s legs and extract the blanket from under Seungmin’s form before arranging it over the both of them. Seungmin stirs with a hitch in his breath but otherwise shows no signs of actual consciousness. Changbin’s almost surprised because he thought Seungmin would startle more at any sudden change—like the way he said he’d become instantly aware when he heard the intruder. But maybe it’s because Seungmin knows that this is only Changbin, tugging on the blanket below him, not an intruder. That Seungmin’s safe where he is. 

\---

The next morning Changbin wakes up to his own blaring alarm and finds his arms embarrassingly draped across Seungmin's chest. What’s worse is the fact that Seungmin is already awake, and Changbin makes eye contact with him in real time as he comes to those realizations. Then Seungmin smiles serenely at him like there’s nothing wrong, eyes half-lidded and hair astray from just having woken up, and Changbin panics. Seungmin’s body is warm, but only for a moment as Changbin scrambles to sit up and turn off the alarm, before quickly excusing himself to the bathroom. 

His heart shouldn’t have fluttered like that. Changbin thinks there must be something wrong with him, because Seungmin is _Seungmin_ , the detective that he thought was snobby and an unsympathetic know-it-all. Except the problem is that Seungmin really… isn’t like that, and that Changbin has never really hated him. Sure, Seungmin may not be a normal detective, but after getting to know him a bit it turns out Changbin _can_ live with him after all. He just can’t live with _this._

Changbin finishes brushing his teeth and pretends it’s just another normal day.

It’s time for work, and he only wants music on his mind, nothing else. _Nobody_ else. 

\---

“So how are things going with Seungmin?”

Changbin props his feet up on his desk, leaning back into his chair. “Okay, I guess,” he replies. 

“See? I knew it!” Chan’s victorious remark rings enthusiastically through the phone, and Changbin rolls his eyes even though the elder can’t see him. 

“Yeah, well, for a while, I was ready to beat you up,” Changbins says. “I mean, I couldn’t complain since we were each paying our half and Seungmin isn’t a noisy flatmate or anything, but… he takes some getting used to.”

“Ah. Getting used to.” Chan notes, sagely. “But was it you getting used to him or him finally acknowledging your presence as a semi-capable human?”

“I- what do you mean?” Changbin asks snarkily; he’s also getting the sense that Chan’s poking fun at him.

“Probably the latter, then,” Chan mutters to himself. 

“Hey!” Changbin says. “I’m capable. Seungmin is just… on another level.” He doesn’t mean the words to come out sounding so genuine, but he supposes he holds a certain amount of respect for his two months’ flatmate.

“Knew it,” Chan says, for the second time since Changbin’s picked up the phone.

“Knew _what?”_ Changbin prods. 

“So how’s the new job? Jisung told me that things are finally starting to pay off?” 

Changbin lets the change of subject slide, just once, because he’s not even sure if he wants to know what Chan’s insinuating.

\---

**Felix:** hello~ it’s been a while  
**Felix:** just wrapped up a call closeby, want to get dinner?

Changbin reads the texts, then rereads them. For the past couple of weeks, he’s been busying himself with work. Reading Felix’s words remind him that he’d also agreed to get food with Seungmin sometime too, except the opportunity had never really come up. Changbin almost feels guilty replying to Felix, but there isn’t anything to feel guilty about, he tells himself.

**Changbin:** sure! text me the address of the place

**Felix:** nooo i’m really close. on district street rn, actually. i’ll pick you up if you don’t mind?

**Changbin:** haha are you gonna pick me up in a police car? i’m not getting arrested right?

**Felix:** lol oh fuck fjdks forgot about that. but hey it’s fineeee police cars pull up to restaurants all the time righttt

Changbin snickers and feels the causeless guilt edging away. 

**Changbin:** well. i’m sure it’s happened before.

**Felix:** ok i’m five min away!

  
  
  


Seungmin stares at him as he leaves the apartment.

Changbin stares back. “What?” he asks. The way Seungmin’s eyes are following him kind of unnerves Changbin. 

“There’s a police car outside and for once _I_ had not been expecting them,” he says. 

Ohhh. Right. “I’m not double-dealing, don’t worry,” Changbin hastily reassures, because he knows Seungmin does not like the police. “Not working with the police at all. Just. Yeah.”

“Just what?” Seungmin asks. 

“Getting dinner with one of them,” Changbin says, slowly. 

“Oh. Okay,” Seungmin says, and a strange look passes over his face. It almost looks like he’s glaring down at the coffee table. “Well. Have fun,” he says, like he can’t fathom that Changbin’s evening would even be _fun_ at all. Obviously Seungmin is still getting the hang of human relations. 

Or… Changbin wonders, is Seungmin… hurt? Because Changbin had kept declining his offers? Is it wrong that Changbin hopes this is the reason? But he’d agreed that he’d grab dinner with Seungmin the next time the detective asked. 

He lingers in the doorway, trying to figure out what Seungmin’s thinking. The problem is that he really can’t. Seungmin’s face can be an impenetrable mask when he wants it to, revealing nothing.

Sighing, he closes the door. And closes that train of thought.

\---

Felix offers to get dinner together again and then Changbin feels guilty for a whole different reason.

“Is this a date?” Changbin asks, as straightforward as possible, when he slides into the car (not a police car, this time). 

Felix glances at him before returning his vision to the road in front of him. “If you want it to be?” he says, nervously. 

“Sorry,” Changbin apologizes. “You’re a great person. And you’re really fun to talk to.” _Unlike Seungmin._ “I just… I’m not sure if I really feel the same? So maybe I shouldn’t have given my number that day but I have enjoyed our conversations. I just don’t want you to think I’m leading you on,” he says, beginning to ramble. 

“Hey, it’s chill,” Felix says, smiling reassuringly. “This is only the second time and it’s not like I’ve developed much in the way of feelings yet, anyway. Besides, it’s nice to not eat alone. With a friend,” he emphasizes. 

“Right. Sorry,” Changbin says. “Yeah, I’d like to still be friends.”

Felix glances over his shoulder as he pulls the car against the curb, straightening out the back of it. “It’s fine,” he says. “Is it Seungmin?”

“Uh… what?” Changbin answers, confused. 

“Oh shit, sorry,” Felix says, turning off the engine. “Okay, let’s just pretend this entire car ride didn’t happen. Food is good, right?”

“Wait-” Changbin’s brain finally pieced together the meaning. “You thought Seungmin and I- we-”

Felix opens the car door and sticks a leg out, pausing. “Okay, but to be honest, Seungmin is kind of scary but he _is_ also attractive, right? And you two were living together. But the more I think about it this is the _private investigator Seungmin_ we’re talking about, so… okay… this is why I don’t jump to assumptions. Let’s forget this conversation ever happened,” he repeats. “Anyway…”

Changbin’s definitely executed the phrase _drink to forget_ multiple times before, but he’s going to be eating to forget tonight.

\---

… And for the record, Changbin makes a point to ask Seungmin if he wants to get dinner together later that week. Seungmin jumps at the opportunity like an eager puppy, with effusive enthusiasm Changbin didn’t even know the detective was capable of. 

Seungmin tries his hardest to make the dinner seem normal, and Changbin can tell, even if he almost laughs when Seungmin’s phone rings once and Seungmin looks incredibly apologetic as he steps outside to take the call from the police station.

Changbin remembers Felix’s words. But this is Seungmin. This isn’t a date, though maybe, Changbin feels an old yet familiar emotion stirring in his chest at Seungmin’s efforts. 

\---

It’s three in the morning. 

Changbin blearily squints up at the crack of light seeping through the ajar door, and then at Seungmin’s silhouette standing in that crack.

“I’m surprised you slept through that,” Seungmin says. 

“What happened?” Changbin asks, sitting up in bed. 

“I think I’ll have to be more inconspicuous in public from now on,” Seungmin says, disregarding Changbin’s question.

“What happened?” Changbin tries again.

“Oh… it doesn’t really matter,” Seungmin tells him. “I may be stealing half your bed for more than one night this time though.”

Against the cry of his tired bones, Changbin drags himself out of bed and slips past Seungmin in the doorway, much to Seungmin’s protest. 

“You don’t need to see it,” Seungmin tells him. 

Changbin pushes the door open to Seungmin’s room anyway. He flicks on the light.

The window is shattered, and broken glass is strewn across the floor. And the bed looks like it’d been slashed with a knife—through the sheets and right into the mattress, multiple times. Tiny shreds of outer lining and torn-up foam are scattered around the cuts and it almost looks like a bird was murdered on Seungmin’s bed. 

“Apparently my name is really out in the public now,” Seungmin says. “I seem to have a target over myself.”

A gust of wind blows through the broken window and Changbin shivers. 

At least there’s no blood this time. 

“The window…” Changbin laments. 

“I’ll be paying for the cleanup and the replacement window and mattress,” Seungmin tells him. “Being the smartest detective in town has its perks.”

For the first time, the thought strikes Changbin’s small, sleepy brain. 

“Why didn’t you just get an apartment for yourself?” he asks. “You said you were looking for a roommate, but it seems like—with your line of work—you could afford this entire unit.”

Seungmin turns to look at Changbin. 

“I-” Seungmin frowns. Then he glances away. For all the times Changbin has seen him, he has never looked more utterly stumped.

Suffice to say, Changbin doesn’t get an answer that night. 

\---

Seungmin suddenly also refuses to share Changbin’s bed. But for this, he does give an explanation.

“I’m the target,” Seungmin says firmly. “I’ll sleep on the sofa; I don’t want to put you in danger as well.”

So Seungmin has a heart, Changbin knows that. He’s just not sure when Seungmin actually started using it. 

His own chest feels inordinately fuzzy at the statement, and it makes him want to insist that Seungmin should share the more-comfortable bed anyway, at least for the night—because someone wouldn’t strike twice in a row, right? 

But Seungmin’s tone of voice leaves no room for argument, and it seems like Seungmin is too busy tackling his thoughts himself. 

\---

The next day the window shards are gone when Changbin passes by and peers through the doorway. What’s left of the jagged window is still there, though, and so is the shredded mattress, like an ominous ghost of a warning. Changbin shivers again even though the sun is out for once.

Also, Seungmin makes him tea that morning. Changbin almost can’t wrap his brain around it. 

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, taking a wary sip from the cup. Surprisingly, it tastes fine. Maybe since he’d so rarely seen Seungmin making his own food and drinks he’d assumed Seungmin just wasn’t as skilled in that department. He stands corrected.

“Did you?” Seungmin returns. 

“Yeah, I guess—what are you getting at?” Changbin asks, narrowing his eyes. “You never make me anything and you rarely care about others’ personal lives.”

“Well—can I not?” Seungmin raises an eyebrow at him. 

“No- but- you just- _don’t.”_

“I don’t see what the problem is here,” Seungmin says, turning around. Suddenly his phone buzzes on the table. 

“Update from the police,” he says, already whirling into action. 

Changbin watches as Seungmin is out the door in a matter of seconds. Then, just as quick as he left, Seungmin pokes his head back into the apartment. “Oh! Have a good day!” and then smiles at him when he actually leaves this time. 

Seungmin never wishes him a good day. And the fucking _smile._

Never mind that Changbin’s beginning to come to terms with the fact that Seungmin’s genuine smiles can light up the room. Just. Seungmin acting like that, and like it doesn’t pain him to act like that… 

The world must be ending, Changbin thinks.

\---

It isn’t.

Also, the real problem begins one week later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the actual scavenger hunt confession is in the second half of this I promise ;-;; my brain was just like "what if we gave this fic some buildup with relationship development and backstory first," ahaha...


	2. PART II: The Hunt

It isn’t everyday that Apartment 325 is filled with the sound of… music. 

So when Changbin hears the sound of a very real violin—not any of the digital violin presets in the tracks he’s working on—drifting through the apartment, he takes a moment to listen.

Actually, even though Seungmin had mentioned that he played violin the very first time they’d met, Changbin thinks this is the first time he’s actually heard it. The playing is by no means extravagant or that technically difficult, Changbin thinks, but the melody flows nicely enough. 

And the music sounds unexpectedly _emotional_ —the rubato in notes drawn out, along with the fluctuations in dynamics. Well then. Changbin is pleasantly surprised. And just the slightest bit irked, because _damn,_ why is Seungmin so good at (almost) everything? 

Truthfully, Changbin almost gets lost in the music, eyes closed and head resting thoughtfully against his palm… until Seungmin decides to stop his lyrical playing.

A few minutes later, the sound coming from the living room suddenly morphs into the repetition of three notes. It’s weird. Seungmin plays the same three notes in the same order for at least multiple minutes without stopping. 

Changbin’s musically-trained ears tell him that the notes are G, B, and A, and they keep repeating on, and on, and on… 

Okay, now _this_ is just annoying. _Shut. Up._ Changbin thinks. 

He marches out to the living room, determined to tell Seungmin to stop, or to go back to playing whatever he was playing before because that actually sounded nice.

But when he arrives, Seungmin just levels him with a stare. He holds eye contact with Changbin and continues his three-note repetition. 

“Could do with a bit of variety,” Changbin says, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares flatly back. 

“Oh. Really?” 

Seungmin is mocking him. Seungmin has to be mocking him.

“The neighbors are going to get on our case,” Changbin tells him. “Just.. please… maybe you have a reason for repeating three notes over and over but I think this is enough.”

Seungmin shrugs, violin shifting with the movement. “Alright.” He stops. “And you’re right. I do have a reason.”

“What’s that?” Changbin asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too curious.

“You’ll have to figure it out,” Seungmin tells him cryptically.

“Oh, come on, I don’t have the time for this,” Changbin says, irritated again.

Seungmin shrugs nonchalantly again. “Suit yourself.”

And Changbin just knows that Seungmin is watching his every step as he heads back to his room.

\---

Changbin finds out what Seungmin’s reason is the next morning. 

… it involves _him._ Seo Changbin. Why? Changbin doesn’t know yet.

Seungmin is nowhere to be seen as Changbin opens the fridge, searching for scraps he can salvage to make something for breakfast. A slip of scrawled-over white paper flutters down as he tugs on the door, and he picks it up. 

_Seo Changbin,_ it reads.

 _You frustrate me sometimes. So this is the only time I’ll help you out._ (Changbin scoffs. Now this is typical Seungmin—why start off a note with a complement when he could just get right to the point.)

_Think. What were the notes I was playing the other day? I must have bothered you enough to ingrain them in your head._

That’s true, Changbin thinks. The note ends there. It’s not signed, but it’s Seungmin. Clearly.

G, B, A, he mutters to himself. GBA. GBAGBAGBAGBAG… ( _this is so dumb, he thinks.)_ Then the lightbulb goes off. 

Of course. It would be BAG, if he just picked a different starting note.

Also, Changbin thinks, half-amused, is Seungmin really sending him on a scavenger hunt for clues? Changbin feels like he’s back in elementary school. And why would Seungmin even do this in the first place? Surely he has better things to do. 

Either way, he’s curious enough. There’s only one bag Seungmin could be referring to, and it’s his beloved laptop bag. He checks the main pocket and comes out empty-handed, but one of the side pockets that he never uses has another folded note in it.

 _Congratulations._ Changbin can almost hear Seungmin, speaking in a dry tone of voice, as he reads it.

_You’ll find the next clue from my… friend? I don’t know if I can call him a friend since the policemen are pretty sure I don’t have any friends. But I disproved them with you, right? Anyway, I suppose that you’ll find the next clue from my… how should I put this? Good acquaintance? Perhaps he counts as a wingman. Don’t think too hard about it—this isn’t meant to be hard to decipher. Just use your brain for once… sorry, that was rude. But you know what I mean._

_-Seungmin_

Changbin reads the note once over, except it takes him much longer than it should because his brain keeps lingering on the line “ _But I disproved them with you, right?”_

It’s stupid, that’s what it is. He’s being stupid. And this entire hunt is stupid. He tells himself that he’s only trying to get to the bottom of it because he’s intrigued about _why_ Seungmin would bother with this. Why Seungmin would bother with someone like him—someone far less intelligent, even if they’re apparently friends. (Yeah. Changbin supposes they _are_ friends now. Which is… good… _get a grip, Changbin._ )

Even so, Changbin has no idea how to go about solving this; Seungmin hasn’t really brought anyone over or introduced him to anyone other than the policemen, and considering how much he claims to loathe them, Changbin is almost certain that Seungmin is not referring to any of the officers. 

So Changbin decides to save the rest of his brainpower for work, and hopes that maybe he’ll think of something if he revisits the note later. 

\---

Actually, Changbin doesn’t figure out the next clue. Inadvertently, the next clue comes to him.

“Hey, what’s up?” Changbin asks, picking up the phone call. 

“Seungmin stopped by my place the other day and I was really confused, but he gave me a piece of paper and told me to wait for a call from you.”

“Wait… really?” Changbin inquires. 

“Are you _sure_ there’s nothing going on between you and him?” Chan’s question is searching—simply curious and yet also insinuating. 

“No…?” Changbin replies, but it comes out far less sure than he had intended. 

“Okay,” Chan replies, clearly doubtful. “Anyway, since it’s been a week and you haven't called, I figured I’d help you out.” He whispers conspiratorially into the phone: “Don’t tell Seungmin.” They both burst into laughter.

Truth be told, Changbin had almost forgotten about the last note. And Seungmin hadn’t brought it up either. But now that he has the opportunity, he’ll take it. 

“What does it say?” Changbin asks.

“That’s the thing,” Chan tells him. “He gave me a piece of paper. That’s it. It’s blank.”

“What?” Changbin asks again, confused. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ll send you a picture if you want. I don’t think there’s anything written on it—I even tried sticking it under various lights but I don’t think Seungmin’s the type of person to go for invisible ink.”

“Then… why…” Changbin tries to wrap his head around this information, baffled.

“Oh—it’s purple, if that means anything,” Chan tells him. “Sorry I couldn’t be more of a help, but good luck with whatever game… you two… are doing.”

“Thanks, Chan,” Changbin replies, deciding to ignore the unspoken meaning behind Chan’s parting words. 

A few moments later, his phone dings: two pictures received. Chan labels them _front_ and _back_ but they both look the same—a pale purple square. 

_I’m not smart enough for this,_ Changbin thinks. 

\---

And he really isn’t. 

One moment he is lying in bed and halfway to dreamland when it abruptly hits him. Changbin thinks he’s figured it out—a few minutes later when groggily he picks up his phone again he stares at the lavender home screen and remembers Seungmin had pointed it out before. The thought occurs to him that his home screen background is a very similar shade of purple to Seungmin’s blank note. 

But there is nothing in his phone—Changbin spends a solid half hour digging through his phone—the camera roll, his recent texts, the notepad, and anywhere he thinks Seungmin might have planted something, nevermind the fact that he’s kind of scared to find something because that means Seungmin somehow wormed his way into his phone. In the end, Changbin only comes up empty, as well as with half an hour less of sleep.

Changbin considers giving up.

\---

Fortunately, the next clue finds him again. Changbin stumbles across it by accident.

He is searching through his closet for clothes good for layering material since the days have started getting shorter and colder. The soft pink sweater that he hasn’t worn in a while catches his eye—it’s not too thick but also fairly warm. When he sticks his first arm through the sleeve, his hand hits a piece of paper halfway.

Huh. It is a note. And a fitting shade of pink, this time. 

Perhaps the purple of the previous note was only hinting to pastels in general. Changbin doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really care because he’s somehow come across the next clue anyway. 

_And_ it actually has writing: 

_Think about pink. Not the pink you just found, but think back to a different pink. What was wrong with it?_

Changbin is _not_ a detective; hell if he knows. He rereads the note five times before giving up, stuffing it into his pants pocket.

Though when Changbin steps out of his room later he can’t help but notice Seungmin eyeing his sweater and he feels oddly self-conscious (and Seungmin _had_ made that one comment about this particular sweater once). Changbin is tempted to just take it off and hurtle it at Seungmin’s stupid face and his stupidly sharp eyes and the stupid way his mouth starts curling up into this gleefully satisfied grin and the stupid way that same mouth opens to say—

“You look pretty, Changbin.”

Changbin almost trips midstep. Fire rushes to his cheeks at an insane speed and he internally screams, a muffled and tortured sound that is only inside his own head. On the outside he offers his most polite smile.

“Yup—uh—” ( _Nice going,_ he thinks), “Your compliments are really getting smoother,” ( _Too smooth, maybe.)_

Seungmin beams at him, pleased. Then he kind of squints at Changbin. “Your face is a little red,” he bluntly says.

Oh god Changbin needs a distraction. He procures the pink note he had just found from his pocket, waving it in front of Seungmin’s face. 

“Thanks for the clue,” he quickly sputters out.

Miraculously, it works. Seungmin’s eyes fixate on the paper and he arches an expectant brow at Changbin. “Have any idea where you’ll find the next one?” he asks. 

“No,” Changbin deadpans. Seungmin innocently smiles back. 

“Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Changbin asks. ( _B_ _ut why?_ he internally demands. _Why?)_

Seungmin shrugs, evading a direct answer. “If you’re to be my assistant then I have to see how well you’re qualified.”

Changbin is ninety-nine percent sure that this is not the actual reason why Seungmin’s sending him on a spectacularly stupid scavenger hunt—because Seungmin already knows Changbin would be a joke of an assistant anyway—but he shuts his mouth and bolts it to the kitchen before Seungmin can continue sneaking not-so-surreptious glances at his horribly red cheeks, looking like he’s… well, tickled pink. 

After today, Changbin thinks, he’s never wearing this sweater again, no matter how soft and comfortable it is. 

And that is an empty promise made to himself. The next week he wears it again and the expression of surprised delight on Seungmin’s face turns his heart into a light fluttering thing; Changbin’s sure that with the sweater weather all the butterflies have decided to migrate to his heart for the incoming winter instead. 

(He writes this sentence in his notebook of possible lyrics, and thinks that—regardless of whether or not he can solve these clues—he is absolutely, completely, screwed.) 

\---

… Seungmin _has_ to stop hiding the clues in his clothes. 

But actually Changbin figures out this clue entirely on his own this time—no accidental stumbling across it, and no help from Chan. Perhaps he’s just a little proud of himself. _Assistant Changbin,_ he thinks wryly, balling his socks back up.

It had taken him a while to arrive at the conclusion, but Changbin had kept Seungmin’s pink note in the back of his mind for weeks after finding it in his sweater. Once, as he had been walking home along the street, he had noticed a man dragging a suitcase with him—maybe someone who had been coming home from the airport, and it had struck up a memory.

_Changbin stands over the body of a woman clothed in...pink. “Did she have a suitcase?” Seungmin keeps asking. He doesn’t take no for an answer._

_“She had to have one,” Seungmin finally explains. “It was raining earlier. And there are splashes of mud on the back of her leg—the pattern of splashes could have only been from a small, wheeled suitcase.”_

Changbin had rushed the rest of the way home, incredibly sure that _had_ to be the other pink Seungmin was referring to in his note. 

Seungmin had glanced up from a newspaper—who even still reads the news physically?—as he had taken in Changbin’s excited form in the doorway. 

“The other pink!” Changbin had said. Seungmin’s head had disappeared back behind his newspaper, but Changbin had caught the elated grin on it anyway. 

He had bolted for his room, pulling out an old small suitcase that had been collecting dust in his closet. There were no notes in plain sight, but inside the main compartment he had found a pair of rolled-up socks—long socks that Changbin knew had been taken from his drawer because the suitcase should have been empty.

And the socks were fitting—because the woman had been splashed up her ankles and calves—right in the location where one would pull up a pair of long socks. Changbin had unrolled the socks and victoriously snatched up the note—plain white this time, except lined, like Seungmin had ripped off part of a sheet of notebook paper.

… only to find that it was utterly blank. Again.

Changbin had dragged himself back out to the living room, dangling the blank note over Seungmin’s newspaper until the detective momentarily went cross-eyed.

“The hell?” he had asked. “How do you expect me to figure this out?”

Seungmin’s smile had been lazy, confident. “Read between the lines,” he had said. 

Changbin had blubbered like a fish, before finally sputtering out, “Was this entire thing all to make a bad joke?” 

It was so unfunny that it was actually funny, and he had started laughing dumbly. Soon Seungmin had been laughing along with him, and Changbin thought that they had maybe found something in common with each other—a bad sense of humor. 

“It wasn’t, though,” Seungmin had blurted out before Changbin had retreated back to his room, “That wasn’t the last note.”

\---

But Changbin is too lost to attempt to even decipher the blank note and Seungmin’s unfunnily funny remark about reading between the lines this time, so he lets it fall to the backburner. 

He thinks multiple weeks pass. Sometimes Seungmin tries giving him pointed glances over the coffee table, but those are even less decipherable. 

Then maybe Seungmin gets too tired of his dawdling so he takes matters into his own hands.

\---

“Changbin.”

Changbin’s heart drops to his throat at the seriousness in Seungmin’s tone—he can hear it especially clearly since he isn’t wearing headphones this time. “What happened?” he asks, concerned.

“I think I’m going to sleep here for the night,” Seungmin says, trudging to his bed and seating himself on its edge. 

Changbin is… confused. So there’s nothing to be worried about? 

“Um… is there a particular reason why?” He cautiously asks. Not that he’s against the idea, per say, this is just very, very _interesting._ Seungmin’s gotten a new mattress and his room’s window was fixed quite a while ago, so unless Seungmin is convinced that someone is going to ambush him in his room again he cannot even begin to fathom _why_ Seungmin would want to do this. And especially when Seungmin had been so adamant about _not_ sharing a bed under the reasoning that he’d be putting Changbin in danger.

“No reason,” Seungmin cheerily replies—almost too cheerily. Changbin levels him with those intense eyes that Jeongin—an old high school friend—used to say were intimidating, but obviously Seungmin would be the one the least intimidated by them; Seungmin’s smile stays plastered to his face, and Changbin does not think he’ll be able to win a staredown with him in this state. 

So he shrugs instead. “I guess… suit yourself?”

“Okay!” Seungmin grins at him and the smile isn’t feigned this time, bright and purely _happy_ and Changbin really really thinks his heart is defective… for a detective—and those would make for some funky song lyrics. But really—why do things like this keep affecting him—why do they make his palms feel suddenly sweaty and the back of his neck so hot?

He really does not want to acknowledge it, and yet that awareness in the back of his mind is pricking closer and closer. There are definitely some very real feelings—and Changbin just lets them continue to simmer.

“Can you sleep with the lights on?” he asks instead, belated realizing that Seungmin had already done so last time. 

Seungmin nods. “Don’t worry—I’ve slept in _far_ worse conditions,” he reassures him, and he knows Seungmin takes his detective work rather seriously so Changbin can’t really be surprised. He’s just glad Seungmin didn’t go into the details of what those worse conditions were. 

So he turns back to his laptop, dimming the lights anyway as Seungmin situations himself in _his_ bed. That’s fine. Everything is fine. 

Just—of all people—why did it have to be _Seungmin?_

  
  
  


An hour later Changbin wraps up his work for the night and comes back to his room after brushing his teeth, finding Seungmin sleeping soundly under his blankets and curled up on the inside of his bed with his back to the wall. There is a slight furrow to his brows and his mouth is barely frowning and Changbin has a horrible, horrible urge to smooth both things out with his thumb. He really almost does it—he blames the delirium of his tired brain—before retracting his arm and pulling up the covers to slip under them himself instead. He makes sure to purposely face himself away from Seungmin. Because. 

He reaches out to flick the remaining bedside light off, and—the shrouded darkness reminding him that he is the only one awake—all of a sudden things feel ten times worse. Why is he like this—Seungmin is minding his own business unconscious in his bed and all Changbin can think about is how he wants to do something stupid, like plant a fucking kiss on Seungmin. 

Nope. Not going there, Changbin resolutely tells himself. Not going there, not going there, not going there, can his thoughts please shut up. 

They don’t shut up, but finally wander to a different subject instead. 

“Why are you sending me on a weird scavenger hunt?” Changbin whispers into the darkness of his room, even though he isn’t going to receive an answer. “The clues are too hard, but the only reason I keep trying is because I just want to know why… what’s at the end of this?”

Maybe there’s nothing at the end of all of Seungmin’s clues and this is just a big fat joke like the silly remark about reading between the lines. He doesn’t think Seungmin would do that, but surely a sought-after detective would rather be hunting down actual clues than teasing someone else with his own.

“I don’t get you sometimes,” Changbin continues. The ceiling, fuzzy and grey in the dark of night, stares blankly back at him. 

“I just… really don’t get you sometimes,” Changbin repeats, rolling around so he is lying on the other side and facing Seungmin… which was also probably a bad decision. He can barely see Seungmin, but the crack of moonlight through the blinds just _has_ to illuminate a rectangle of the detective’s face—and those upset eyebrows and slight pout are still there. 

Not his business, Changbin reminds himself, and firmly shuts his eyes. 

He knows he’s tired, but that night it takes him longer than it should to fall asleep.

  
  
  


When he wakes up Changbin feels a million times warmer than usual. This also makes him immediately feel far more awake because it can only mean one thing—the heat surrounding him isn’t solely from his blanket.

Sure enough, Seungmin is _hugging_ him—hugging him with almost inescapably tight arms wrapped around his back. He’s curled up into Changbin’s chest, asleep, but the disconcerting eyebrows and frown from the night before are gone, replaced by what is quite possibly the brightest and softest smile Changbin has ever seen on Seungmin’s face. 

Changbin would have booked it out of the bed right then and there had he actually been able to. He leans to the side to see that he still has some time before his alarm goes off, and, well, Changbin has never really been much of a morning person, so even though every fiber in his body screams that this is a bad idea he indulges himself just this once. 

Which, of course, turns out to be a mistake on his part.

He is lost in his drifting thoughts—most of them questions beginning with _why_ —until his alarm suddenly begins shrieking. Changbin jerks a hand up to turn it off and jostles Seungmin awake, and—oh boy, this cannot be good.

Changbin accepts his demise as Seungmin stirs, blinking his eyes open and taking in the situation. He is sure that he is as still as a rock when Seungmin sleepily nuzzles his head into his chest except his heart is now careening in that chest and he is sure that Seungmin can hear the sound of it. 

_Fuck my life,_ Changbin repeats like a mantra in his head. Not that it really helps, though.

“Good morning—I have to go to work,” he stiffly says instead. 

Seungmin’s arms cling to him stubbornly and then he finally looks up. “Oh,” Seungmin says, eyes alight. “Good morning.” That soft smile is still on his face, like it refuses to come off (it’s beautiful).

 _Fuck. My. Life._ The clock is ticking, Changbin thinks, except he doesn’t even make another attempt to get back up. 

For at least five minutes, they stay like that—Seungmin never once budging from Changbin’s side or removing his arms. The smile also never once drops from his face. The warmth, which has now taken over Changbin’s chest, only keeps growing. 

Finally Seungmin moves first, reaching over Changbin to pull off a yellow post-it from the pad on his bedside table (it’s something Changbin leaves there in case lyrical inspiration strikes him in the middle of the night). Seungmin hunches over him, scrawling out something on the note, and then he swiftly hikes a leg over Changbin’s form, pulling himself out of the bed. 

Before Changbin can say anything else, Seungmin leans down and slaps that sticky note to Changbin’s chest, and then raises an eyebrow at him, prompting.

 _Next clue?_ Changbin wonders. Because it seems quite spontaneous if it is. (Oh, and his chest is way too hot where Seungmin’s hand had lingered to stick the note there. Fuck.)

Ignoring Seungmin’s eyes on him, Changbin warily sits up, pulling the sticky note off his shirt. There are only three words written on it.

_Do you understand?_

Above and below that question, Seungmin has drawn out lines—calling Changbin’s memory back to “read in between the lines.” Well, now he literally is reading between the lines. And still just as confused.

When Changbin looks up, questioning, Seungmin is still smiling at him with that damned melted smile. 

It is too early in the morning for this cryptic shit, Changbin wants to say. What in the world is Seungmin getting at? 

“What does this mean?” he outright asks. “What am I supposed to understand?”

Seungmin shrugs. It seems to be a common occurrence when Changbin asks him about these notes, and Changbin has never been more annoyed by such a simple gesture. 

To further elevate Changbin’s annoyance, the last thing the detective does before he walks out of the room is to pull out that cursed pink sweater from his closet and fling it at Changbin’s face. 

“Have a nice day at work,” Seungmin tells him. Smiling. That. Stupid. Smile. 

And for some outlandish reason, those words and the image of Seungmin’s smiling face echo around inside his head the entire day at work and soon Changbin can barely stop smiling, either.

\---

“So, help me out here,” Changbin says, pulling out all of Seungmin’s “clues” from the past few days and arranging them on Chan’s table. 

“I’m really lost as to what happens next,” he says, pointing to the most recent note of them all. 

_Do you understand?_ The words mock him; no, he does not understand at all. 

The sheets are lined up in a row:

First, the one from the fridge—calling out Seungmin’s repeated violin notes. Then, the only proper note with a long paragraph written as a clue. The paragraph that told Changbin to find the next note from his friend? Acquaintance? Wingman??? 

(That would be me, Chan says.)

The third note is the blank purple one that Chan gives him. Not much of a clue but it’s still there. Then the pink note referring to the case Seungmin dragged him to with the woman and her missing suitcase. This is followed by the infuriatingly blank lined note paper. And then the note Seungmin had scrawled out after waking up the other day.

Chan points at the fifth note. “What was this supposed to mean?” he asks. 

“In Seungmin’s words, ‘read between the lines,’” Changbin drily tells him. 

“And the last one?” Chan asks.

“I don’t know. It seemed spontaneous. He just scrawled it out and slapped it on me. But the words he wrote are really ‘in between the lines.’”

“He slapped it on you?” There is a very curious lilt to Chan’s voice. 

Changbin pushes down his own embarrassment to explain. “We were sleeping together—not like that!” he hastily rushes to clarify “and then he just woke up and wrote that?”

Chan listens to this, and then it takes him all but three seconds before he bursts into laughter.

“This is golden,” Chan wheezes out, much to Changbin’s irritation. “Holy shit—Seungmin? In the same bed with you?”

“Not in that way!” Changbin firmly cuts in. _Not in that way!_ he reminds himself again, except Seungmin didn’t even give him a reason for why he had so suddenly wanted a share of Changbin’s bed that night. 

_Just saying, that’s not very bro-like of him,_ the Jisung voice in his head starts up. 

_Shut up,_ Changbin thinks. It’s another _why_ tacked onto his list of whys—why did Seungmin do that? 

“So… Seungmin put this together?” Chan continues. “I thought you two could live together, after all, but I never would’ve expected him to do something like this.”

“What do you mean?” Changbin asks, irritated. 

Chan stares at him, long and hard. Then he cracks up even more. “You’re totally _clueless,_ aren’t you?” he asks, chortling at his own wordplay and—Chan is a good friend but—it’s just slightly getting on Changbin’s nerves.

“You’re not as funny as you think,” he remarks. 

“It doesn’t matter, this entire situation is just too humorous,” Chan admits, bracing himself on the edge of the table. His laughter finally dies down and he regards Changbin with sympathy clearly on his face. 

“Dude, the last time we talked I suspected you might have developed a little something for Seungmin, but I didn’t expect it to go both ways,” Chan finally says, slapping his back. “Changbin—the guy’s in love with you or something. ‘Read in between the lines?’ ‘Do you understand?’ When he’s leaving these sort of hints for you—this totally a confession.”

_This is totally a confession._

“You’re kidding me,” Changbin says. 

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Chan replies, and Changbin realizes that the elder is, in fact, not kidding. “Look at the notes for yourself.”

_This is totally a confession._

The statement comes hurtling at him full-speed like a truck, and Changbin drops to the floor, curling himself up into a defeated ball. “No way,” he whispers. He looks up at Chan. “No… way??”

It’s one thing that Changbin was just coming to an agreement with his own feelings for Seungmin, but it’s another thing for them to be… reciprocated.

“My thoughts exactly, until I realized that… maybe it isn’t that far-fetched,” Chan says. “I mean, you two seemed to be getting along quite well from what I hear.” He wiggles his eyebrows. 

“I-” Changbin finds himself unable to finish the sentence.

It can’t be possible. 

Except, if he thinks about it, maybe it is just a little possible.

Three words: What the fuck.

\---

Changbin is a wimp, a coward, and every other name synonymous with a scaredy-cat. 

He can’t face it. He’s been confessed to before, sure, but never has anyone made him hunt down clues to figure it out. Not that Changbin had even figured it out himself, either. And he’s never been confessed to by a world-class private detective who only recently seems to have figured out how to act sociable. 

Also, a large part of him is in so much disbelief that he still doubts Chan’s words—Seungmin really wouldn’t do this, would he? 

Jisung once coyly remarked that the only reason Changbin was so short and small was so he could be better at darting in and out of places—better at the art of evasion. 

So that is precisely what Changbin decides to do when he gets back to their flat— _their_ flat—after the traumatizing afternoon at Chan’s. 

He avoids Seungmin—avidly, actively, avoids the man. It’s sort of hard since Seungmin’s schedule can be quite impromptu depending on who comes bursting in for his help each day, but when he’s not out working Changbin pretty much roots himself to his room and only goes out to make food when he’s sure Seungmin isn’t planted in the living room pondering over some case or chatting with the police or reading the news. 

And if Seungmin notices, the detective doesn’t say anything about it, either. And no more notes are found, nor does Seungmin hint at there still being any notes left to find, even though Changbin’s been left hanging with the _Do you understand?_ … which Chan claims is part of his confession. 

A couple weeks pass—winter is beginning to set in—and they still interact minimally without Seungmin confronting him or pointing anything out, to the point that Changbin wonders if he’s called off the scavenger hunt thing altogether.

And then Changbin wonders if Chan had been wrong this whole time—because, if so, then there’s really no reason to even be avoiding Seungmin. 

\---

**Changbin:** hey are you busy tonight?  
**Changbin:** dinner on me?

 **Felix:** it’s free food so sure :DD where do you want to go?

 **Changbin:** _[sent a location]  
_ **Changbin:** meet you there at six?

  
  


“I should have known this was going to be about Seungmin,” is what Felix tells him the moment Changbin mentions the detective’s name.

“I’m sorry,” Changbin replies, throwing his hands up. “It’s just—normally I’d talk to my friend Chan for advice on these sorts of things since he’s more responsible, except this time he pretty much just laughed at me.”

And normally his second choice would be Jisung, but considering Felix already knows a bit about the situation with him and Seungmin, Changbin would rather not get an earful of teasing from Jisung as well. 

Felix giggles, a light and tinkly sound, and if only Changbin could’ve caught feelings for him, he thinks, then this would have been much easier. Alas. The world does not run that way.

“Don’t laugh at me too!” Changbin raises his voice, indignant.

“I’m not laughing at you, I’m just laughing at that situation,” Felix says, still tittering. 

“If you say so,” Changbin dubiously replies. 

“So what’s up with Seungmin, then?” Felix curiously asks. 

Changbin sets the clues out on the dinner table in between their bowls, arranging them in order and explaining the situation to the policeman across him. 

“Don’t laugh again—but my friend said this was a confession,” Changbin tells him. “I’m starting to doubt him though since Seungmin hasn’t hinted to any other notes since the last one, which was probably three weeks ago.”

“Hmmmmmm.” Felix stares at the assortment of notes for a while before looking up. 

“I wouldn’t even know how to interpret any of this, to be honest with you,” he finally says. “But your friend suggested the idea of a confession and it definitely fits.”

Changbin sighs—he had sort of been expecting a reply like this. Even though he could barely grasp the concept of Seungmin doing this, he can’t think of anything else the clues could mean.

“I mean, it would explain why he glared at me the last time I went to your apartment, right?” Felix tries, grinning. 

“What?” Changbin asks. 

“I don’t think you were there, but he looked like he was ready to kick me out of the apartment,” Felix quips. “Like, jealous much?”

That must have been after he and Felix went out to get dinner a couple times. Changbin shoves a spoonful of rice into his mouth. Chews it, then swallows slowly. He can’t really think of a good reply to that, so he goes for the easier alternative. “Nobody could be jealous of a ray of sunshine like you,” he says, cooing and making tiny hands at Felix. 

“Yeah, well, tell that to Mister Icy Stare. He can’t be melted by my sunshine.” Felix laughs. “It’s okay, he’ll come around eventually.” 

Then Felix’s next mouthful of dinner stops halfway to his mouth. “But you’ve certainly melted some of that, haven’t you,” he says.

“I mean…” Changbin trails off. 

_The policemen are pretty sure I don’t have any friends. But I disproved them with you, right?_

“Word circulates among us, you know,” Felix tells him. “Minho and Hyunjin were at your apartment a while back and apparently whenever you stepped out to go to the kitchen and get food or tea or anything Seungmin’s mood became way better and he got a lot more cooperative talking to the police.”

That must have been before Changbin started avoiding the detective, too. The thought of _him_ playing a role in Seungmin’s moods is just strange.

“I didn’t know that,” Changbin awkwardly says, face dangerously close to burning up again. “You know what, let’s change the topic, okay?”

“Sure, but can I just ask you this?” Felix says. “You don’t have to answer since it’s not really my business and it seemed like it wasn’t that way before, but… Changbin, do you like Seungmin?”

Changbin stares at a crumb of rice stuck to the table. “Maybe,” he says. It sounds weak to his ears. “Probably,” he says a few seconds later. “I don’t know. Yes? How do I explain it—it’s hard because it’s Seungmin?”

“Right,” Felix says sympathetically. “But—then—wouldn’t the notes being a confession be a good thing?”

“That’s one too many questions,” Changbin says half-heartedly. “It should be. I just… I’ll think about it, I guess,” is what he settles on instead.

Okay, so hypothetically it _is_ a good thing. But Changbin has always been the deep and emotional one in his friend group. All his high school friends would jokingly tease him about it, and it is also the reason why he hasn’t been in a relationship since freshman year of college—because he has a tendency to get too attached, and then people inevitably leave. 

So perhaps it’s just a bit scary.

If Felix notices the conflicted expression on his face he doesn’t comment on it, and instead chooses to direct the conversation to the local news instead. Changbin is incredibly thankful. 

“Good luck, then,” is what Felix offers him when they part ways later. “Let me know how things go!” 

“Sure,” Changbin replies. _If they go,_ he thinks instead.

\---

But first—he probably owes Seungmin an apology.

  
  


“Um… Seungmin?” Changbin says into the relative silence of the apartment. Seungmin is staring out the window in the living room, looking down at the street that… Changbin just came up from. The detective seems to be lost in thought—maybe pondering over a new case—with his back to Changbin as he enters the flat.

“Seungmin?” Changbin tries again, louder this time.

“Oh!” Seungmin turns around. “Do you need anything?” he asks. 

“No?” Changbin says, . “I just wanted to say sorry? I’ve sort of been avoiding you the past few weeks, which wasn’t a very nice thing to do.” He uneasily shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, waiting for a response.

“Oh,” Seungmin says again, but this time his mouth curiously falls open and he looks… confused? 

“You’ve been avoiding me?” Seungmin asks, and there is not even a hint of accusation in his voice. His question is purely honest.

… that’s… certainly not what Changbin had been expecting. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or do both.

“Yes?” Changbin tries, hoping his voice sounds less strangled than he feels.

“I thought you were just busy with work,” Seungmin replies truthfully. “I mean, I easily get absorbed by my job all the time, so I figured the same thing happened with you.”

“I…” Changbin is truly at a loss for words—for once, in this moment, Seungmin would win the contest and take the trophy for being less socially inept.

Not for the first time, Changbin thinks: _This is so stupid. I’m being so stupid._

Because it seems like he and Seungmin are rarely on the same page—literally, in the sense of all the notes Seungmin’s been leaving, but also in the sense that they’re just two _very_ different people. Changbin’s just an ordinary guy; but Seungmin is a detective who loves his job and has an endless appetite for adventure, a brain that’s hardwired for meticulous attention to detail, and… as it turns out, a bit of a heart, but… still…it makes it seem like Changbin turned this situation into something bigger than it should have been. Changbin’s just an ordinary guy; but he’s also a guy who lets dumb emotions cloud his thoughts… and he needs to go clear his head.

“I’m just gonna… just gonna go to my room now,” he says. Maybe plant his face into his pillow and stay there for a few minutes to process the conversation that just happened, but he’s not saying that out loud.

He turns around only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder halfway. 

“Changbin,” Seungmin softly says, and Changbin slowly steps back around to see the detective with concern written all over his face. His eyes are shiny and his eyebrows are tugged down, sad, and it’s not really an expression Changbin has seen on his face before—which puts him even closer to the verge of breaking down.

“I’m sorry,” Seungmin tells him. “You know I’m still working on this… “socializing” thing. Did I say something wrong?”

And before Changbin can reply, Seungmin’s arms are encircling him and he’s being pulled forward into a hug.

Changbin had always imagined that hugging Seungmin (and like actually _hugging,_ not the time Changbin woke up to Seungmin’s arms around his—not that this is something he frequently thinks about) would be a stiff and awkward experience, but… somehow, it isn’t. Seungmin’s shoulder is the perfect height for Changbin to rest his forehead on, taking deep breaths as Seungmin embraces him tightly and warmth returns to his bones.

“So… did I do something wrong?” Seungmin tries again after a couple minutes pass. 

“It’s not your fault,” Changbin replies. “But I have a question.”

“Okay,” Seungmin says.

He pulls away to dig through his pockets for the notes stored inside, feeling surprisingly calm. Maybe it was the hug that did it. 

“Just.. what was the point of these notes?” Changbin asks. “I thought… because I was avoiding you… that you stopped the scavenger hunt altogether? But…”

“But I didn’t realize you were avoiding me…” Seungmin finishes for him. “Well then,” he says, and gives Changbin a pointed stare. “Did you understand them?”

“Um…” All of a sudden, Changbin’s hands feel really clammy holding those notes and he thinks he might break into a sweat even though they never run the heater high in their apartment. He sticks them back into his pocket, feeling like the lead role of some modernized version of _Hamlet._ To say or not to say?

“That’s okay,” Seungmin speaks up when Changbin takes far too long attempting to gather his thoughts—but Changbin can’t help but notice the way the detective’s face falls before he quickly schools it back into a mask of impassiveness. 

Then Seungmin grins. “Actually, I just got an idea, so—you can expect a few more notes,” he says. 

Changbin regards the detective suspiciously—after all, whenever Seungmin’s smiling genuinely he’s not sure what to make of it. “Uh... alright?” Changbin slowly replies. 

“You’ll see,” Seungmin says. 

\---

… Changbin does indeed see.

The next morning, there is a written-on yellow post-it (stolen from his notepad again) on his desk that reads:

_Left early to check out an accident nearby that I suspect isn’t really an accident. Anyway… be on the lookout for more notes!_

_P.S. Smile! Seeing you sad yesterday was heartbreaking but I’m glad we talked about it._

There’s no indication of where Changbin might find the next note, or clue, or whatever this is, but the paper really does bring a smile to his face even though he is not a morning person.

Also… did Seungmin just use the word “heartbreaking?” Man. Oh man. He really is changing.

Changbin finds another yellow post-it stuck to the tea kettle he usually uses in the mornings.

 _Thanks for making me tea sometimes,_ the note begins.

_I would’ve returned the favor by making you a cup, but, practically-speaking, it would probably be cold by the time you found this, so I’m afraid you’ll just have to settle for my word of thanks._

The note is very… Seungmin. Changbin’s heart churns as he boils the water and pours it into his cup and he feels so close to pouring out a confession as well. 

There is also a note he finds on the door as he’s leaving, a shorter one that says _It will probably rain today, so don’t forget an umbrella._

So Changbin grabs the umbrella as he leaves, and sees that the clouds are looking particularly dark and burgeoning today. 

But what is the point of all of _these_ notes, he wonders. The previous set of notes were clearly clues leading up to something… and he’s not entirely sure that something was a confession. These notes aren’t clues; they’re just… notes. From Seungmin. 

They sure do make Changbin’s day better, though.

\---

The bright sticky-notes continue for a few days, scattered in various places of the house—and never the same place twice—Changbin to find before he leaves for work. And maybe it’s dumb but Changbin keeps all the notes and finds that his mood stays far better, especially considering that he’s staying later hours these days.

And then maybe after a week after there is nothing. Changbin’s mood doesn’t drop at all—but maybe he’d looked forward to a cheekily-written good morning from Seungmin.

But the wednesday after, Changbin trudges into the kitchen bereft of notes to find Seungmin already seated at the counter, scrolling his phone instead of pacing the living room or reading a newspaper for once. 

“Good morning,” Changbin greets, filling the kettle with water.

“Good morning,” Seungmin replies. Then he makes a sort of distressed noise—frustration, maybe? Changbin can’t really tell, but he turns around curiously to glance at the detective.

“Could I borrow your phone?” Seungmin asks. “There’s no signal on mine…”

Changbin shrugs, absentmindedly pulling a teabag out of the cabinet. “Sure.”

It’s only when he’s heading to work and casually checking his phone that he sees a reminder tacked to its lock screen. 

“Reminder: Tomorrow, 7 P.M.,” it reads. There is no note below detailing what that reminder is actually for. 

Changbin stares at it. Did _Seungmin_ set this while he was borrowing his phone? Maybe Seungmin meant to set something for himself but he forgot? 

He unlocks his phone, swiping the notification away. He’ll have to ask Seungmin about it later. 

\---

(He forgets to.)

\---

It is the next day when Changbin is eating dinner by himself after work in a small restaurant—when his phone dings with a notification.

“Reminder: Today, 7 P.M. _This event starts in ten minutes.”_

So much for his phone giving him a big heads up—ten minutes isn’t a lot of time. And Changbin had forgotten to ask Seungmin about that, but it could be something noteworthy.

He dials Seungmin’s number. 

“Changbin?” Seungmin picks up the phone.

“I think you set a reminder on my phone? 7 P.M? Is there anything important you have to do?”

There is a long silence on the other line, and Changbin thinks Seungmin has hung up.

Then: “It’s not really important, but thanks, Changbin,” Seungmin says, and actually hangs up this time. 

Changbin finishes his meal and drives back home faster than he normally does, because Seungmin had sounded… sad? Over the phone. Maybe Changbin had heard incorrectly, but there had been a weird edge to Seungmin’s voice that makes him press the gas pedal harder and boldly gun more of the yellow lights on the way back.

He gets home only eight minutes past the hour, shoving his shoes off and already opening his mouth to ask Seungmin what is the problem and…

Seungmin is not home. 

Not in his usual armchair in the living room, and not in his room, either. 

Okay, so—Changbin did assume that Seungmin would be home at this time. This is why he isn’t a detective—he jumps to conclusions far too quickly. 

But still. Changbin dials Seungmin’s number again. Seungmin doesn’t pick up. 

Changbin sighs. 

The detective was probably on the job when he called both times. 

But he sits in the armchair, pulls out some book from Seungmin’s dusty collection, and waits for Seungmin to come back, anyway. 

\---

(And then falls asleep.)

\---

“Mrrmpphhh? Time?” Changbin groggily murmurs. The light in the apartment is dim and growing dimmer by the second and it takes Changbin a moment to realize that he is moving—no, being moved. There is a arm under his knees and another arm under his back, and the lamp from the living room soon disappears from his sight as Seungmin opens the door to Changbin’s room. 

“It’s one in the morning. Sorry I woke you,” Seungmin says, setting Changbin down on the bed. Or tries to. 

Changbin kind of attaches his hands to Seungmin’s shoulders instead, squeezing his eyes shut and refusing to be put down. 

Seungmin laughs, soft and quiet. “I’m not the bed, Changbin,” he says. 

“But I feel asleep on you,” Changbin mouth says, moving of its own accord.

Seungmin snorts and laughs again, a little louder and more brazen this time. “When did you get so witty?” he asks. 

“I mean—I feel asleep on you, waiting for you,” Changbin says tiredly. “Was waiting for you to come back from whatever case you were working on.”

“You,” Seungmin says, pausing, and Changbin blinks his eyes open, just barely making out the way the detective’s mouth falls open slightly in the dark. “You were waiting for me?”

“Yeah. You sounded weird on the phone earlier,” Changbin tells him, because somehow being only half-awake brings out his honesty. “I know detectives follow logic and not feelings but my senses were tingling,” he tries to joke. He looks up and _god_ Seungmin’s face is so close that he can almost feel his exhales as the other stares back at him. 

“You…” Seungmin’s voice trails off again. “Can I set you down first? My arms are starting to grow numb.”

“Okay,” Changbin says. Seungmin lowers him onto the mattress and then sits down on the edge of the bed, next to him. 

“I wasn’t on a case earlier,” Seungmin admits.

“You weren’t?” Changbin asks, confusion settling in his sleepy brain (which is getting less sleepy by the minute, despite the inviting lure of the soft bed against his back). “Then where were you? And back so late, too, it’s past midnight.”

“I left for a drive after you called me,” Seungmin says vaguely. “Thought about some things.”

“Woah, thinking!” Changbin responds, grinning up at Seungmin. 

“Yeah,” Seungmin replies drily. “You should do it more often.”

“Gee, thanks Seungmin,” Changbin sarcastically mumbles. “So there was nothing wrong earlier?”

“Nothing wrong?” Seungmin echoes. He sounds so quiet, so unsure—so unlike the composed detective he normally is. “Well… Changbin, don’t take this the wrong way, but you should really think more often.”

“So nice as always,” Changbin replies, teasing. But when Seungmin doesn’t smile back, he props himself into a sitting position as well, leaning against the backboard to regard the latter. “What do you mean?”

Seungmin turns to him, and the moonlight through the blinds illuminates a tiny sliver of his face again. His mouth struggles to form an answer. “Do you really want to know?” Seungmin asks. 

“Yeah,” Changbin answers seriously. His mostly-awake brain offers him an argument, and he takes it. “Remember that second note you gave me? You said you’d consider us to be friends. And I do too. So you can tell me. Even if it might be rude I won’t mind.”

“Friends, huh?” Seungmin says. He glances up at the ceiling, then back at Changbin, fixing him with the _most_ undecipherable look Changbin has ever seen on the latter—and Changbin would know, because he’s seen the way Seungmin sometimes regards the stragglers that show up at their apartment looking for the detective’s help on some personal issue. But this is even harder to read; Seungmin’s gaze is determinedly unwavering and mouth set in a firm line as his eyes pierce straight into Changbin’s own. Changbin almost wants to back down and look away, but the sudden bout of boldness he has—maybe the lack of inhibitions the night presents—isn’t letting him. 

In the corner of his vision, he sees Seungmin’s hands—which were resting flat on his lap—curl into tight fists, and his dark eyes shimmer for a brief moment when he questioningly tilts his head and his pupils catch the sliver of moonlight. 

Changbin continues staring back, unable to look away from Seungmin’s eyes because he doesn’t know what to make of Seungmin’s words. _Friends, huh?_ How does he respond to that? 

Fuck, he has to respond though—he has to say something, at least. It’s been a long while since the air between them has actually felt so tense, and Changbin is growing more anxious by the second. 

But just as Changbin opens his mouth Seungmin suddenly swoops forward—leaving no time for Changbin to react—and _kisses_ him. And so the only sound that comes out of Changbin is a tiny gasp instead.

For how fast Seungmin had moved there, Changbin nearly expected an aggressive collision, but somehow, like he had meticulously calculated his movements, Seungmin’s fingers gently land on the side of his jaw and his mouth meets Changbin’s own in the lightest of presses instead. It’s enough to make Changbin’s stomach dip and swirl as his eyelids instinctively flutter shut; his body’s way of telling him that he had really been wanting this for a long time now. 

Just as his slack hands finally come up—reaching for Seungmin to stabilize himself—the other pulls away, slightly, and Changbin is now most definitely awake.

“The reminder, Changbin,” Seungmin firmly says, all no-nonsense, and Changbin can feel the fan of his breath against his lips. “Seven P.M. I asked for your phone? Does that ring a bell at all?”

Changbin thinks hard about it. He really does. But it’s no easy feat he still feels light-headed and when he’s really unable to look anywhere else except for Seungmin’s expectant face—inches away from his own, and waiting for an answer. And those lips—the lips that were just on his, lips that he can still feel the touch of. 

“Changbin,” Seungmin harshly whispers his name. _That's hot,_ his brain unhelpfully supplies, and Changbin can’t even be embarrassed that he got lost in thought because they… just… kissed. 

“ _Changbin,_ ” Seungmin roughly whispers again, quieter but amused this time, and _whoops_ Changbin is staring at Seungmin’s mouth again as it attractively forms the syllables of his name. “Yesterday morning I asked you: could I borrow your phone? Because there was no signal on mine.” Now his voice has fallen so much it is barely audible, prompting. 

So Changbin finally lets the words sink into him, lets the logical part of his brain take control. 

And— _oh._

 _Oh, oh… oh._ Changbin really _does_ need to think more often.

“It was the very first thing you ever said to me. Not even to me! You asked Chan,” Changbin whispers back, just the slightest edge of aggravation creeping into his voice at the memory—after all, Seungmin had given him the strangest first impression. “And then later on you asked me to meet at the prospective apartment the next day at seven… ”

_“Let’s meet there tomorrow at seven.”_

“... Wait. I was supposed to be here at seven, wasn’t I,” Changbin sheepishly finishes. “Whoops?”

Seungmin looks incredibly exasperated… but it’s also… fond? “Changbin… the notes… the reminder… I was going to confess to you,” Seungmin says. 

And there it is. His suspicions, finally confirmed. Though they pretty much already were a couple minutes ago.

Looks like the butterflies really did migrate to his chest for good this winter. Changbin blinks once, and Seungmin is still right there. So this is very real. 

Seungmin continues. “But you didn’t come back to the apartment at seven, and you called me instead because it turns out that you didn’t... make the connection. But I thought you must have figured it out—it’s not like this was supposed to be super hard to decipher or anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Changbin retorts, although he has to agree. 

“So then I just went to take a drive... Started wondering how much you’d really pieced together and if you really liked me back or if I was just imagining things.” Seungmin leans away, folding his hands into his lap. “I mean, I’d hope I wasn’t just imagining things. You do like me back, right?”

Changbin almost laughs out loud—for all the things Seungmin can figure out just from one glance at a person, he seems to be absolutely clueless when it comes to realizing that Changbin somehow reciprocates his feelings. To top it off, Seungmin literally just initiated a kiss, and Changbin hasn’t yet bolted away, so… the detective is being awfully dense tonight.

Changbin is sure he must look just as fondly exasperated now, as he opens his mouth to say “Yes. Yes—I like you.”

And then like the dumbass he is, he has to stutter out— “But are you sure you really like me? That it’s not… just because… I actually came to tolerate your presence or anything like that?”

It’s all of his doubts that come pouring back—the reasons why he’d been pushing off a confrontation with Seungmin about the notes. Seungmin is clearly not the same person Changbin thought he was from his first impressions of the man. And maybe Seungmin has opened up quite a bit but Changin is still unsure if they’d really fit well together. And Changbin keeps wondering if Seungmin has mistaken his feelings for something else—because it’s no secret that Seungmin didn’t really have much in the way of friends and because Changbin had actually somehow.. sort-of…befriended him. 

(Talk about not thinking enough before. Changbin’s probably overthinking, now.)

Seungmin levels him with a flat expression—the usual _you’re being incredibly stupid_ look—but it looks like he’s also fighting a grin. “I like you so much I might even dare to say I’ve fallen for you,” he says, and Changbin’s heart explodes into a million stars. The confession should be scary, and yet it isn’t. It just feels… right.

“Trust me—I gave you so many notes and clues. Some that you apparently couldn’t figure out, but, mind you—I’m _very_ sure about this,” Seungmin continues, and tips Changbin’s chin up with his hand as he leans back in.

It is certainly not something Changbin imagined he’d be doing at one in the morning, basked in darkness save for the occasional glinting slices of moon. He can barely make out the dip below Seungmin’s nose and the shadowed curve between his lips, but Seungmin’s eyes do shine clear as day, and Changbin gets the sense that they are both really _seeing_ each other, the truth laid out into the unassuming, accepting night. 

So as Seungmin’s eyes flutter shut Changbin closes his eyes too, and allows Seungmin to kiss him—properly this time.

Seungmin imprints his mouth into Changbin’s lips, slow and sweet and _feeling,_ and if Changbin still had any thoughts about the detective being rather impassive (which have long since been disproved, regardless) they’ve all flown out the window now. Seungmin tastes like a mix of late night tea and satisfaction finally received, one hand gently pushing him into the backboard of the bed and other hand cradling his face with tenderness that is palpable. 

But it is firmer, bolder, the traces of uncertainty from the previous kiss gone as Seungmin paints the confession he had previously expressed in words this time with his lips—their mouths slotting against each other like perfect puzzle pieces as Changbin really _gets_ it, understands that Seungmin _wants_ him. That Seungmin wants to understand him, and will play every part of the detective he is until he figures out every bit of Changbin for himself. 

Then the pressure on his lips curls upward into a smile, and then that smile breaks open, and when Changbin blinks his eyes open he sees that glorious grin in the peek of Seungmin’s teeth and the crescent curves of his eyes.

“Surely _that_ helped clue you in on how real my feelings are,” Seungmin says, and it is accompanied by breathy and soft laughter.

(Changbin wasn’t thinking enough before, and then he was overthinking, and now he _can’t_ think—can’t think about anything else except the man in front of him.)

“How do you even know how to kiss so well?” Changbin asks with pleasant disbelief, still reveling in the warmth of Seungmin so closeby. If he’s to be brutally honest, he doubts the detective has kissed anyone before—especially on the lips. It’s unfair, how good Seungmin seems to be at everything.

“Google?” Seungmin suggests, and Changbin cannot help the way his eyes follow the movement of the other’s mouth even though that word should have just ruined the mood. 

Changbin raises an eyebrow. “Really.”

“No,” Seungmin easily replies. “I’m just a smart and fast learner. And you’re the best person I could’ve chosen to learn from.”

“Oh my god,” Changbin whines, ducking his head down. He’s never been more thankful of the near-darkness to hide his flaming cheeks. “What! You can’t say that.”

“Although—I have to confess that I didn’t think that would actually feel so good,” Seungmin says. “Never understood all the so-called hype about kissing, but I guess I do now.”

Changbin can’t help it. He bursts into laughter. “That’s more like it,” he says. Kim Seungmin, in the flesh—a highly intelligent and capable detective who is finally learning what it means to also be human.

“Before I met you,” Seungmin continues, “the only thing that ever really fully satisfied me was the thrill of solving a well thought-out crime.” _Of course,_ Changbin wryly thinks. “But the more I got to know you, the more I found myself happy for no reason other than just being able to talk and interact with you.”

Changbin’s gonna need a moment to commit those words to his memory—of Seungmin speaking so sappily ( _whipped,_ Jisung would say) and earnestly. 

“Still disappointed you couldn’t figure out my hints,” Seungmin chides, tutting. It’s so infuriating, but unlike the first time they met Changbin is infuriated for an entirely different reason.

So Changbin shuts him up. 

And when he wakes up to a smiling Seungmin in his arms, he isn’t so distressed about it, for once.

\---

Later, he admits that he’d had his suspicions, but only since Chan had brought up the idea.

“Hold on. You tried to get help from others? That’s… cheating,” Seungmin indignantly replies, astounded.

“Too bad,” Changbin says. “I’m sure even the great detective extraordinaire has gotten a bit of help from the police once or twice.”

“Never,” Seungmin resolutely says, but his mouth twitches. Which isn’t a direct invitation for anything, but… anyway.

Changbin hops into the armchair and onto Seungmin’s lap and kisses him until that damned scavenger hunt is the last thing on either of their minds.

\---

Once after the police come over, Changbin is accosted by Felix as he’s leaving. 

“Something clearly happened,” Felix says. “I can’t believe I have to watch you and him doing all that at each other from across the room all the time now, though.”

“Yeah, well, he’s still solving most of your cases, so say what you want,” Changbin smiles, teasing. 

Felix grins. “Amazing that he can divert half his brainpower to making eyes at you and yet still solve everything we throw at him at incredibly fast speeds.”

“Astute observation, Felix,” Changbin jokes, fighting a blush back, and ushers the policeman out of the apartment so he can have Seungmin to himself.

\---

“Remember when you asked me why I decided to rent out the flat with you?” Seungmin brings up a few mornings later. 

“Even though you could’ve done it yourself?” Changbin recalls.

“Yeah. It was also a bit of a spontaneous decision on my end as well, but I think it was because you interested me—because my first impression of you was that you were… well, normal, but definitely nice for lending me your phone.”

“Nice,” Changbin says drily. “Nice.”

“Well _I_ certainly wasn’t being nice when we first met,” Seungmind defends. “It was amusing to rile you up so much when I kept telling you facts about yourself that kept baffling and irritating you.”

“Amusing,” Changbin deadpans, though he is now the one amused.

“Yes.” Seungmin shoots him a bright smile and Changbin tries to keep himself from grinning.

“But anyway, because of the way I acted during that first meeting, I was surprised that you even still showed up later to look at the apartment with me. So that’s probably why I still extended the offer.”

“Oh. That’s it?” Changbin asks.

“I really was surprised that you even came back after our first interaction. I don’t know many other people that would have, so I was curious,” Seungmin tells him. “And… uh… that’s how we ended up here.”

“Gee,” Changbin says, “you make it sound so simple.”

“But it is, though?” Seungmin glances at him, confused.

“Of course,” Changbin replies—because _typical_ Seungmin—and they both break into laughter.

\---

Changbin easily relents when the detective starts inviting himself into his room every evening. When Changbin brings up the previous intruders, Seungmin says he’s put in another completely false lead to a different address, and hopes that they won’t be ambushed in the middle of the night again. 

So one week later, Changbin wakes up to another note on his chest, one that falls off when he sits up to turn off the alarm. Seungmin is still asleep next to him—which means that he probably stuck this on him in the middle of the night and then dozed off again.

The handwriting is small, barely legible, because there are so many words written on the small sticky note, but Changbin manages to read it all nonetheless:

_Changbin—_

_After your rather poor performance deciphering my clues (and don’t say you had your suspicions, because you would’ve been completely lost had it not been for Chan) I’ve come to the conclusion that you aren’t qualified to be my assistant._

_However, I do have another position available—dare to hazard a guess at what it is?_

_—Love, Seungmin_

Changbin grins uncontrollably, then pulls another yellow post-it off the pad on his bedside table, scribbling his own words onto it and tacking the note on Seungmin’s shirt.

_Seungmin—_

_Duly_ noted _for the first part_ . _Haha, aren’t I funny? But—yes—I’ll be your boyfriend._

_—Love, Changbin_

\--CASE CLOSED--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :000 seungmin dressed up as sherlock for halloween [here](https://twitter.com/hwangseungs/status/1320686661500465157)!!
> 
> anyway i’m not incredibly smart or great at thinking of complex scavenger hunts either so apologies if the actual clues were a bit lackluster… but i still had tons of fun writing seungbin in this—detective seungmin especially hehe—and i'm really happy with how the end product turned out. so if you made it here let me know what you thought!! thank you for reading and have a great day!
> 
> a thank you to user [etherealksm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherealksm/pseuds/etherealksm) for this wonderful prompt and also to the seungfest mod for organizing this, please go check out the other works written for this fest!
> 
> and come be friends with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/in_a_rabbithole) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/glissandos) :DD


End file.
